Futura Memoratia
by Socknitster
Summary: Dr. Emily Freedman, talented linguist/archeologist in the Stargate program, was touched by a mysterious artifact and travels to Atlantis, seeking answers. See Season 3 through a new set of eyes in this AU, romantic, novel-length fic. Fic is complete. To read it in entirety, in an e-pub format, click on my profile - a free link to the book download is on my blog.
1. Chapter 1 itinere journey

Dr. Emily Freedman stared gravely at the blue puddle of the event horizon through the windshield of the puddle jumper. Her stomach churned and beads of sweat were forming on her forehead and the nape of her neck. She was trying to keep her breathing even so her companions wouldn't notice her distress, but she knew she probably wasn't fooling anyone. She was terrified, yet hopeful, and could barely keep a coherent thought in her head. She clung to the thought that something new and exciting lay on the other side of the gate—regardless of whether it was what she was hoping for or not. Surely, it would be well worth the risk of taking the journey.

Some people found the act of walking through the Stargate to be unsettling for various reasons, mostly psychological, although most didn't experience any feelings about the matter at all, once through the ring a few times. Emily quickly discovered, after joining the SGC, that her own reaction was quite unique. She seemed to sense the wormhole itself. While most people who traveled through the gate sensed only a fraction of a second of displacement, if that, her brain detected more of a sensation of movement through space, that seemed to be over almost before it began, leaving her swaying, on the verge of passing out, disoriented, and nauseous with the beginnings of a pounding headache.

It was embarrassing. Surrounded by servicemen and other experts, she hated the fact that she looked like a complete idiot every time she went through. She tried valiantly to hold it together somehow, employing various medical interventions with the help of the SGC doctors, but nothing prevented it from happening. She was the butt of running jokes. No one wanted her on their team. Having spent her life among the best and the brightest, always striving to excel, this was something that was beyond her control and it was holding her back from doing the very job she felt she'd been molded for.

After one of her more pitiful off-world excursions about four years prior, she'd been called to a meeting with General Hammond and Dr. Daniel Jackson. It was a very uncomfortable moment for all of them, she imagined, and probably a first in SGC history. Another ignominious notch in her belt. Dr. Jackson had recruited her himself. Archeologists with an open mind and a facility for learning languages were highly prized at the SGC for obvious reasons.

Emily had happened across one of Dr. Jackson's papers while in graduate school. His theories about the great pyramids and their possible use as pre-historic, extra-terrestrial landing pads had gotten him laughed out of the halls of the most prestigious universities years before. Yet Emily was fascinated by Jackson's new approach to these mysteries and didn't see how anyone with an open mind could completely rule them out. Maybe she had indulged in too much science fiction, but considering how far human civilization had come in the short time since the industrial revolution, it didn't seem out of the realm of possibility to her.

From Sabots to PDA's in little over a century? From her perspective, this immensity of cultural development over such a comparatively short span of time, made spaceships seem not so much out of the realm of possibility to her, given the number of known star systems that could potentially support life in the universe. Surely there were other civilizations who were ahead of them on a developmental scale. She couldn't see why no one else seemed to come to the same conclusions.

She learned from Jackson's example, however, and kept those thoughts to herself throughout the grueling years of her education. Once, she googled him to see if he had done any work since that paper had been written. She couldn't find anything except a couple of cynical and erroneous references to his work. She had, however, found an old mailing address buried deep in the search engine's results. On a lark she wrote him a letter, telling him of her interest in his theories, her own academic progress, and her dreams of the future.

As she sat across the table from Jackson and Hammond in the meeting, sweating nervously, she recalled with a wry twist of her mouth, how she had even closed the letter with a paragraph about how she fantasized of living in a peaceful universe with galaxies of civilizations, each with their own artifacts, ruins, and languages to explore.

She never thought he would actually get the letter, never imagined it would ever amount to anything. For all she knew, Jackson was teaching high school somewhere, full of regrets—and if he did by some miracle get the letter, maybe it would give him a moment of happiness to know that someone out there in his field thought his theories had merit. It was just a way to put her thoughts to paper in a way that she could never speak aloud to her colleagues. She thought it had been a harmless fantasy, a moment of indulgence in her own vanity.

Roughly six months after posting that letter, mere months from finishing her dissertation, she attended a professional meeting, presenting a paper on an obscure Sumerian stone tablet with some novel symbols she had deciphered. Jackson had been in the audience and introduced himself after her talk, asking her to dinner to discuss some exciting opportunities as a contractor with the United States Air Force.

She had surely looked like a fool. She stuttered and sputtered and gaped at him. There went her theory of a paunchy high school history teacher who cried in his beer over his lost career every night. The Air Force needed polyglots and archeologists? Huh? It hadn't taken much to convince her she wanted to know more. Before she knew it, she was moving to Colorado, spending most of her waking hours deep in an underground bunker called Cheyenne Mountain, learning Ancient and other incredible languages and seeing and doing things that she could never have dreamed of.

* * *

General Hammond cleared his throat, jerking her out of her reverie. Hammond and Jackson exchanged glances and Jackson started in, "Emily, do you know why we've called this meeting?"

Emily looked down at her hands for a moment, but quickly realized that was a mistake as tears started to well up. She instantly shifted her gaze to the ceiling, willing the tears to drain away without spilling down her cheeks, mentally cursing the weakness she'd been determined not to show.

"I'm a liability on the other side of the gate," she said flatly. She picked a point just over their heads to stare at.

Hammond leaned in, his hands folded on top of some files. He looked reluctant to deliver his verdict. "The medical team can't seem to find any organic reason for your reaction to gate travel, so there's apparently nothing that can be done. We cannot dismiss the danger it poses to a team to have a member incapacitated for at least twenty minutes each time you go through." He looked to Dr. Jackson as though he needed help softening the blow.

"It's surprising, considering you have a naturally expressed ATA gene. As a direct descendent of the Ancients, we wouldn't expect you to find gate travel difficult. But there it is, nonetheless," Jackson said gently.

Her worst fears confirmed, she fought down panic. "So, I'm grounded? What does that mean? Do I transfer to Area 51? Am I out of the program?" She willed her voice to be neutral and steady. She'd known this was coming—she just didn't know the outcome yet. She couldn't imagine how she could go back to her old life after all this. Would they let her go? How could they, given what she knew?

"No, no. We need you here," Hammond firmly assured her. "Your expertise is invaluable. We can't replace you. You'll be permanently stationed with the archeology lab here, working with science teams on the artifacts we bring back to Earth, as well as translations, of which you know there are always plenty. The work won't be so different from what you're used to. You just won't be going off-world anymore."

Hammond nodded and got up to go. Jackson remained behind, regarding her thoughtfully. "I'm sorry, Emily. I know this isn't what you wanted to hear. You ok?"

She felt limp from the roller coaster of emotion she'd just ridden—the intense build up of so much anxiety, followed by the wave of relief that they would keep her.

"Yeah. I guess. I hate going through that damn thing. But at the same time. . . I hate missing out on the good stuff."

"You'll be safer here," Jackson said with a kind smile. It was like him to point out some positive aspect. He was aware of her aversion to the more unpredictable missions she'd been on.

"Somewhat," Emily rolled her eyes and forced a laugh. "Until the next foothold situation, right?"

She wondered, a sense of tightness squeezing in her chest, if her father had lived, what he would have thought of all this, had she been able to tell him. He'd started out as Air Force before moving on to fly commercial. She'd barely known him, barely remembered him, but she suspected he would've been let down as much as she was by this moment.

* * *

_And yet, here I go again now_, Emily reflected, as the blue glow of the event horizon rippled over the faces around her. Farther than ever before. To another galaxy. She swallowed convulsively. It was insane—truly, utterly insane. She tried to quash down the panic that even the benzodiazapene she had taken couldn't quell.

She was going to Atlantis in the Pegasus galaxy. As far as the SGC was concerned, this was a professional decision. One that surprised them, given her history, but the IOA had been pushing the SGC to send a linguist to Atlantis since the original expedition. They wanted someone working on the Ancient database, to bring its contents home to Earth in a form accessible to all, particularly anything that could be used to further the interests and defense of Earth. They wanted Jackson, but O'Neill and Landry wouldn't allow it. She was their second choice and they'd been pressuring her to go for years. When Atlantis was recently lost and regained, they re-opened negotiations with her—this time offering an exorbitant pay raise. It was the excuse she used; the timing bizarrely perfect.

No one knew that the real reason she was going was entirely personal. Personal, emotional, utterly without logic, reason, or common sense. She was taking a huge leap of faith that even she wasn't sure she believed and that she dare not voice to another living soul. She was going for one reason and one reason alone. To meet Dr. Rodney McKay.

* * *

Emily would be among the earliest users of the Carter/McKay intergalactic bridge built between the Milky Way and Pegasus galaxies. This meant traveling in a small ship, affectionately called a puddle jumper, through gate after gate after gate across the incredible vastness of empty space that lies between galaxies.

General Landry had the foresight to send her along with a small group of medics, bringing medical equipment and replacement personnel through. A macro had been written by McKay and installed into the jumper's computer that would take them through the gate on Earth and directly to the intergalactic gate bridge where they would be forwarded through the first sixteen gates sequentially without stopping or rematerializing. They would then pause at the unfinished midway station before continuing on through the last sixteen gates, taking them directly to the Atlantis gate.

Emily hoped her reaction would be similar to what she had experienced before and not worse. She was stubbornly refusing to wait and was going against medical advice. The doctors thought her issue with the gate was all in her head anyway, so, predictably, their objections had been minor. Once the decision had been made, she didn't want to delay the transition because it would give her time to change her mind. She knew herself well enough to know—it was now or never. Certainty or. . . regrets.

The Daedalus was currently on its way back from Pegasus. It would take weeks to return and then weeks—maybe months—more to repair all the damage done by a massive solar radiation blast wave the Daedalus had recently blocked to protect Atlantis and her home world Lantea. Earth's newest ship, the Apollo, was many months away from completion.

There was even a possibility that no ship would be returning to Pegasus any time soon because the Asurans, a race of human-form Replicators manufactured by the Ancients, now knew of the existence of Earth and the powers that be were currently trying to develop a plan to defend Earth. There was even talk of discontinuation of transfer of personnel to Atlantis because of the danger the Asurans posed to the city.

These were all just rumors. Emily didn't have the clearance to know exactly what was going on. But she decided it was worth the risk to use the bridge. The gate bridge was in place. She didn't want to be stuck on Earth for months or years, or worse—miss the opportunity to go to Atlantis altogether because of momentary discomfort. She could do some really important work in Atlantis with her plans to translate the Ancient database. Perhaps she would even find something that could turn the tide against their enemies. Their knowledge of the database was currently minimal. It was incredibly vast and Ancient was a complex language, difficult to decipher. Many there had a rudimentary knowledge of the language, by necessity, of course. But they needed an expert and that was. . . her. No one, except for Dr. Daniel Jackson, knew Ancient better than her.

* * *

Emily came to sprawled on the floor of the jumper. They'd arrived at the unfinished midway station and a nurse was hovering over her, pumping a blood pressure cuff tight around her arm. She struggled to sit up despite thick nausea rising in her throat and the pounding of her head. She'd been stationed with the military long enough to feel conditioned to ignore physical discomfort and to try to appear as normal as possible.

The nurse pushed her back down. "Whoa, there, Cowgirl! You're not in any condition to get up right now. We were just discussing what the hell we should do with you. We knew you'd have some problems with the gates, but we weren't expecting you to get this serious about it."

Emily looked up, squinting through the pain radiating from the back of her head to her eyes, to see that the others were crowded around her with arms folded and serious expressions on their faces. Then it hit her again with a force that momentarily took her breath away. She'd always had an impression of blue-green tunnels of light after gating. It was fleeting and hard to hold onto. But this time it was vividly hanging before her eyes, blocking out her actual vision. She closed her eyes, but it didn't go away—it just seared the darkness behind her lids with a surreal reverse image in magenta and coral. She struggled to swallow the bile rising in her throat.

"Take some deep breaths, Dr. Freedman," the nurse urged Emily gently, then turned and barked, "Somebody find me some kind of emesis container—she's about to puke, again."

It passed. But she kept her eyes closed so she wouldn't see their grim expressions and annoyance.

"How are you feeling now?" the nurse asked again, after a moment.

"Like I want to sleep," Emily replied reluctantly, her voice coming out as a croak.

"Ok. We're going to stay put for a few more hours and I'm going to place an IV for some fluids. You seem to be moderately dehydrated, which is probably worsening your condition. Didn't you eat or drink anything before we left Earth?"

"No. I didn't want to vomit in front of all of you."

"Well, that plan backfired," the nurse said sarcastically.

"Crap."

She groaned and moved slightly to prop her head against a crate behind her. There wasn't much room to move around because of the supplies they were bringing. Her prone form filled up most of the remaining legroom which surely was making everyone in the rear compartment uncomfortable. The whole trip was supposed to take less than forty minutes. The midway station was unfinished and they would not be allowed to disembark during this break they were giving her. To stay in this tiny enclosed space for hours would be torture for the others.

She tried to muster the strength to tell them not to worry about her and to just move on. She didn't want to make them all sit on their hands for hours while she tried to recover. But she barely had the energy to keep her eyes open, much less mount an argument with them. Soon the IV was in place and they left her alone to sleep.

To sleep and to dream of hurtling through blue-green tunnels of light with deafening shrieks in her ears. It was all jumbled up with images from her past. She would tumble out of a wormhole long enough to see a memory, some pivotal scene from her life, before being swept off again. Dreams, nightmares, visions—segmented by the terror of the wormhole.

A wormhole expelled her, revealing a tantalizing image, one she had seen many times before in her dreams. It had been induced, she assumed, by the accidental encounter with the alien device found on P3X-549. It was the image of an aging Dr. Rodney McKay—a man she had, in reality, never met—yet here in this moment, clearly knew well. He was smiling warmly at her over a champagne flute at a subdued party on Earth, holding her hand across a table top, rubbing his thumb gently over her knuckles. She zoomed in on her hand with stunned fascination, forgetting McKay for the moment. It was clearly her own hand but the skin was no longer taut and smooth. It was loose, wrinkled, spotted, and there was a ring there, that looked like an engagement ring. She looked into McKay's soft blue eyes, crinkled with merriment, and felt herself smile. Overwhelming feelings, like nothing she'd ever felt before, flooded her senses. She tried to linger, to analyze, to commit the details to memory, but she was sucked into the wormhole once more. . . and it was all gone.

She woke, gasping for air, her mop of hair falling forward over her face. The nurse was there, clucking over her. "Ok, Cowgirl, how are you feeling now, after a little sleep?"

"Starving," Emily replied. "Not too bad, actually," she said with surprise, pushing herself up and shoving her unruly hair out of her face, memories still tugging at her from the corners of her mind, which she patently tried to ignore.

"It's time for plan-B, Dr. Freedman. The docs at the SGC prescribed some stuff for a worst-case scenario and we're going to have to use it. We can't risk your heart rate and blood pressure getting so low again. We were on the verge of breaking out the defibrillator shortly after we arrived." The nurse was bustling about, as much as that was possible in the confined space, matter-of-factly peeling open shrink-wrapped medical supplies, making some kind of preparations, and avoiding her gaze.

Emily blinked. A moment passed. She felt better, but was still having trouble processing what was going on. "Can I know what this plan is, exactly?"

The nurse frowned, then hedged, "Why don't you have something to eat first, let that settle, and then we'll fill you in before we get started. We're all going a little stir crazy here, but we want to be sure you're recovered enough before we proceed. We're going to give you another hour. We radio'd Atlantis to give them our new ETA and to tell them to have a gurney ready to get you to the infirmary."

The nurse was some interesting mix of soft-spoken southern gentility and hardened-Texan, military field nurse. Had the circumstances been different, Emily would have wanted to get to know her better. She probably would be fun to have drinks with.

The nurse pressed upon her that from now on she would be taking ships between galaxies. But for now, there was nowhere to go but forward. The others were grim with annoyance and discomfort. She gathered from their body language and hushed conversation that they thought her life could be in danger. She fervently hoped they were wrong.

The nurse drugged her and, with the help of the others, rearranged the supplies so they could lay her out flat on the floor of the jumper to help keep her blood pressure more stable. It was utterly humiliating.

She braced herself for the next incomprehensible wave that would accost her upon entering the Stargate. Instead, she watched numbly as her surroundings and companions dissolved, leaving her alone, seemingly solid and aware and completely still, sailing weightlessly without breath in the vastness of space. At first there were no stars, just darkness, lit only by the dazzling, blue-green light of the wormhole, and an endless, wordless scream that she assumed was the sound of the vastness of space being rent by the wormhole.

She felt only a small shudder as each gate in the void between Pegasus and the Milky Way was accessed. Then she could see Pegasus growing in the distance, a cloud of twinkling glitter and dust, floating in the vastness of dark space. Her new and dangerous home was utterly breathtaking.

Pegasus drew near, filling her senses with wonder, and the wormhole began to gently shift and curve, bending to avoid the deadly particles within stars that could disrupt its field and cause harm to its passengers. At the fringes of Pegasus, the bows and curves were gentle. But as they approached their destination, the wormhole began to twist and swirl violently as the distances between stars grew closer together, breaking the spell and filling her with fear once more. She was tossed like a rag doll, tumbling and swirling madly. She closed her eyes to it, desperately wishing for it to be over, as the familiar sensation brought her to the brink of unconsciousness.

She sensed a stillness and opened her eyes. Space no longer filled her vision. The ship and her companions had returned and she could see a fraction of Atlantis through the windshield of the jumper. She heard the others muttering their relief, gathering belongings as the jumper's autopilot took over and they were _en route_ to the jumper bay. The second the jumper landed, the hatch opened, and everyone except the nurse and one marine slid out awkwardly. Emily struggled to rise, feeling thick-headed and clumsy, but the nurse pressed her down and took her vitals.

There was a gurney waiting. Emily protested, but the marine picked her up and placed her on it. The nurse spoke in low tones with a dark-haired, male doctor who was loaded down with bags and a couple of medical field cases. Something about him was familiar, but she couldn't put her finger on what that might be. She turned her head and could see men starting to unload the jumper.

Emily sat up shakily, trying to push the grogginess away so she could greet the Atlantis personnel coming into the bay. Her clothes were disheveled and she could only imagine that her hair was frazzled beyond looking sane.

She recognized Dr. Weir approaching, looking concerned, "Is this Dr. Freedman?"

"I see my reputation precedes me." She was surprised when her voice came out as rough whisper.

"I understand you've had some difficulty with the passage through the bridge?"

"That's an understatement," muttered the nurse.

Emily frowned and met a mirror of her own expression in Dr. Weir's face as she slid off the gurney, with the nurse reluctantly offering physical support. Her knees were wobbly, but she could stand. She stuck out her hand to Weir and caught her breath as she tracked movement behind Weir.

It was McKay. She recognized him instantly, moving among the piles of equipment from Earth, looking for something. She stumbled momentarily with the nurse clutching at her and Weir still grasping her hand.

He was so much younger than she expected. But what did she expect, exactly? She was chasing some fragment of a dream induced by an alien artifact that she could barely remember. She was certifiably insane—and she was inexplicably panged with sadness that he didn't even notice her existence.

Someone was shouting and she was feeling dizzy. It was getting hard to focus. She wondered if it was McKay who was yelling something about hosing out the jumper and felt piqued with guilt and shame. She was back on the gurney and it was moving quickly. Presumably, she was being taken to the infirmary. She fleetingly hoped they wouldn't do a psych evaluation anytime soon. She was quite sure she wouldn't pass.

* * *

Dr. Rodney McKay was striding purposefully to the jumper bay with Radek Zelenka trailing behind him like an eager puppy, prattling about something he'd found in the database that morning. The jumper Rodney was waiting for had finally come through after some unforeseen delay at the midway station. He frowned, wondering what that could have been.

The station, a protective failsafe to keep Pegasus bad guys from reaching Earth, was entirely his idea, and a brilliant one at that, but it wasn't completed yet. There was no reason to stop there. They should have punched in the address to enter the Pegasus system immediately upon arrival. He hoped there wasn't some kind of bug in the macro. That had been a pain in the ass to write and he really didn't want to revisit it.

"Don't you think it's worth checking out?" Radek asked as they entered the bay.

"What?" Rodney countered absently, with irritation. He stopped and turned, casting a baleful eye on the Czech at his side.

Radek grimaced and peered over the tops of his glasses. "The Ancient temple I found in the database. I just spent three minutes telling you about it."

"A temple? Why would we want to check that out?"

"Well, because it's quite a puzzle—"

Rodney cut him off. "A puzzle? We know many of these local primitives were worshipping the Ancients. So some of them built a shrine, so what?" Hm, he thought to himself, they worshipped the Ancients because of their technology, their superior intellect and so forth, right? Maybe some of these primitives would one day be worshipping him. He snorted with amusement.

"No, no. This temple wasn't built by the local human population, it was built by the Ancients," Radek insisted.

They approached the only jumper with an open hatch. The team of military techs who maintained the jumpers was unloading the small amount of cargo the jumper had brought through from Earth. Rodney stopped abruptly when he realized Carson was there with a medical team. Some enormous marine was carrying a slight woman and laying her limp form on a gurney. They pushed her out of the way of the unloading area. Rodney eyed her with suspicion and started looking through the stacks of crates for the one he was looking for.

"Who is that?" Radek asked _sotto voce_, squinting and pushing his glasses up his nose. "She's cute."

"No idea. It looks like she's sick. You think that's cute?" Rodney shook his head and shot Radek an incredulous look. The man said the oddest things sometimes.

"Curly hair. I've always liked curly hair," Radek said with a slight smile and a dreamy look on his face. Thankfully, he snapped out of it. "Ok, so listen, Rodney—this temple was built by the Ancients and the database says there is much knowledge to be found there. Intriguing, eh?"

"Maybe. Put it on the list, if you think it's so fascinating. Elizabeth can assign a team to check it out if she agrees with you." Rodney stuck his head in the jumper to see what was left in there and saw the crate he was looking for. He went in after it and pulled up short, blinking in disbelief. "Son of a bitch!" he bellowed. "What the hell happened in here?" He grabbed the case and exited the jumper quickly, still yelling, "Sampson—get your team in here and hose out this damn thing, ASAP!" He looked up and saw someone approaching in hazmat gear, holding a pressure washer and hose.

The soldier rolled his eyes and said, "It's Simpson, sir. And I can't hose it out until we clear the area. Hazmat protocols."

"What is it?" Radek asked, peering into the jumper. "Oh." Then he muttered something incoherent in Czech.

Rodney set the case on a stack of other cases and opened it. He saw Elizabeth approaching and nodded at her. "What was all that about?" he asked her irritably, noting Carson and his team wheeling the young woman away.

"That," Elizabeth answered with raised eyebrows, "is our first archeologist and linguist. You knew she was coming today, Rodney. I sent you her file weeks ago. Didn't you read it?"

"What? I don't know. Maybe. I guess so." He pulled an ARG out of the case and regarded it skeptically.

"Oh—is this Dr. Freedman?" Radek asked suddenly with a lot of enthusiasm.

"Yes, that's right," Elizabeth answered. "Do you know her?"

"Oh, no, not really. I email her from time to time with translation questions. She always knows the answer, no matter how esoteric the question, even about engineering specs. She's quite good. And fast. I usually get an answer the next day." He made some kind of hopeful, speculative face. "So, that's her. Lovely. Too bad she's ill."

Rodney set the weapon back down abruptly, feeling his ire starting to rise. "Why would they send her now if she's sick? She could be exposing us all to some sort of deadly Earth pandemic. Have they got that bird flu under control yet on Earth?" he asked nervously, unconsciously turning on his own internal sensors—probing for any kind of indication that he might be feeling unwell.

"She doesn't have a virus. I told you about her—and it's all in her file. She gets sick from gate travel," Elizabeth said patiently.

"Oh, really?" Radek said. "That's unusual."

Elizabeth shrugged. "What do we have we here? Are these the new ARG's?"

Rodney switched gears reluctantly. "Yes, yes. Carter's newest redesign. This is the first batch. I'm going to take them back to the lab and give them the once over to see if I can improve on the design before Sheppard puts in an order for more to be manufactured."

"Alright then. Keep me informed."

She was moving off and he remembered he had something he wanted to talk to her about. "Elizabeth, wait a minute." He paused a moment, gathering his thoughts and shot her a serious look. "I've been doing some more work, in my spare time, of course, trying to figure out how we could still make Arcturis work. I think I've hit on an idea that will do it. I'd like to talk to you about it." He looked at her searchingly, waiting to see what her reaction would be.

She frowned and stared at him, a hint of skepticism on her face. After a few moments, she breathed a heavy sigh and said, "We have a staff meeting in a few days. Bring it up then." She nodded and walked away, heading back toward the control room and her office.

He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and glanced at Radek who had an eyebrow cocked at him and was shaking his head. Rodney ignored that and closed up the crate that held the ARG's, in preparation to return to the lab.

"What would make someone become ill from gate travel?" Radek mused as he fell into step beside Rodney.

"How should I know?" Rodney grit out. "Mental illness?"

Radek waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "New blood. Attractive woman. All the soldiers will be sniffing around that one."

"Don't forget the scientists," Rodney replied, rolling his eyes and glaring pointedly at Radek.

"Maybe. The soldiers seem to have better luck."

Rodney shrugged, reluctantly agreeing.

Radek sighed and looked crestfallen for a moment, then picked up where he left off about the Ancient temple he was so enamored with. "So, that is the intriguing part. We have had no indication thus far that the Ancients were a religious people. They devoted their lives to science and exploration. So who or what is this temple devoted to? What is it all about?"

Rodney listened half-heartedly for another moment or two, then tuned Radek out again, mulling over strategies he could use to convince Elizabeth to let him move forward with his latest, brilliant scheme to make Arcturis work.

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	2. Chapter 2 novus new

"Well, love, it's been twenty-four hours and I haven't found anything to cause any concern. So, I'm ready to release you," Dr. Beckett was saying cheerfully as he perused her chart.

Emily breathed a sigh of relief and set aside the tattered paperback book she'd been reading. There was something familiar about Beckett, she thought, as she watched him fill out the discharge papers. He reminded her of someone, but she couldn't identify who that might be. She was sure she'd never met him.

He was friendly, surprisingly easy to talk to. She liked him. She usually stuttered and sputtered with most men—or said something stupid or wildly inappropriate—but with him she found herself fairly calm and easy. He'd expressed an interest in her experiences with gate travel. He disliked it too, though not for the same reasons.

He was the first person she'd told about her perception of the gate that didn't seem skeptical or dismissive—instead he seemed fascinated, prodding her for more details. She didn't normally share much in the way of her inner thoughts or feelings with others, particularly about something that personal, but he had such an affable nature that she found herself being more candid than usual. He sat by her bedside talking with her and making her feel at home much longer than was strictly necessary, she thought.

"I'll get the welcoming committee on the radio. Someone will give you a tour, show you to your quarters, help you settle in and brief you on policies and procedures so you can start your work. Pleased to meet you, Dr. Freedman," he concluded with a warm smile and a handshake.

A young soldier arrived, friendly and efficient in manner. He didn't waste any time heading for her quarters, where he said her personal belongings were waiting for her. He pointed out a few landmarks along the way, presumably to help her get her bearings. She couldn't stop gazing in awe at the architectural details, the stained glass, the decorative stonework, the views of the ocean surrounding the city. She paid more attention to where she was going, though, after she bumped into a pillar that stood in the middle of a corridor. She pulled up short and blinked, examining the green, bubbling liquid with reverence—that this sort of artwork had survived ten thousand years without maintenance.

"Here we are, ma'am. These are your quarters." He indicated a blue light that was adjacent to the door. "The scientists have these lights keyed to your unique biosignature." He shrugged, as if to say he had no idea how that was accomplished. "You wave your hand over them or touch them to open the door. You have a few neighbors, but not many yet. This is a new section of the city, just opened for new arrivals by Dr. Weir."

She tentatively waved a hand over the lights, watching as the door slid open. The room inside glowed with golden light from some large, stained glass windows that dominated the small room. She had barely taken that in, when the soldier was handing her a stack of papers and booklets.

"In here," he pointed at one booklet. "You will find detailed instructions on how to use the facilities. It's pretty important that you read that carefully. They don't exactly work like you might expect."

She looked at him quizzically. _Crap. Was he talking about the toilet? _ But he had already moved on to other things. He handed her a tiny radio, meant to sit on her ear, and demonstrated how it was used. He emphasized this was her lifeline to get help around the city, so she paid strict attention. She felt flustered, rushed, and realized suddenly he was turning to go.

"Wait," she said, clutching the shifting mass of paperwork to her chest with one hand so she could hold up the other to stop him. "Could you come back in an hour and show me to my lab?"

He grinned knowingly. "One hour," he said, nodding, and left.

She set the stack of paper on a low, glass-topped table and sank into a cream-colored, armless chair, gazing at the room in astonishment. This was her new home.

It was more than one room, she realized moments later with surprise, and it was certainly nothing like the military accommodations she had sometimes used at the SGC when she was too tired or too obsessed with a project to drive home to sleep. Filled with light, artistic stone elements encrusting the walls—like the rest of the city, it was a place of contemplative beauty. She quickly realized, as she explored, that this small apartment had originally been meant for a family. That made sense, after a moment's thought. The Ancients would certainly have had families when they lived here at the height of their civilization, before the Wraith had made their existence untenable.

It didn't take long to unpack. They hadn't let her bring much. There were some books, a few sentimental objects—some of the smaller artifacts from her private collection. She'd brought a fair amount of toiletries, not knowing what would be available in the commissary. Her hair was unforgiving and needed constant care and feeding like a demanding pet. She put those things away in the bath and hesitantly experimented with the fixtures in that room.

She'd brought some clothing, but not much, knowing she would spend most of her time in uniform. There was a pile of new uniforms in the size she had requested lying on top of the full-sized bed. After a short while she curled up on one of the chairs in the living area and looked around with a fragile smile, waiting for her escort to return.

* * *

_The city is massive,_ she thought, as her guide showed her to her lab. Atlantis was a maze of corridors, levels, interconnecting bridges and breezeways. It was so vast, taking transporters from area to area was necessary, which was a bit unnerving, but she thought she could get used to it. At least they didn't make her sick.

The archeology lab was a spacious L-shaped room, already set up with multiple stainless steel cabinets, workbenches and a small desk, shoved in one corner. Another one of her crates was there, full of her work-related books and notebooks. The benches and cabinets were littered with artifacts and there was an Ancient console there for interfacing with the Ancient database.

She donned some gloves and began to carefully pick up, cursorily examine, and sort the artifacts into categories. She hadn't expected there to be so many, but then she hadn't really anticipated just how enormous the city was. On other worlds, they were lucky to find one object and finding a few in one place to study was like a cache of treasure. But here, the objects to be studied numbered in the dozens—possibly more if this wasn't the complete inventory. Pirate's booty.

Sometime later she realized she was ravenous. She'd accidentally missed the midday meal in her zeal to sort and assess her new work environment. She pulled a piece of folded paper from her pocket and checked her watch, set to Atlantis time before leaving Earth. The mess was currently serving a hot meal. She nervously activated the radio on her ear to request an escort from the welcoming committee.

* * *

She found an empty table near a window and sat down by herself, sighing. Starting over again, making acquaintances, was never fun. This could be a long assignment. There were probably going to be a lot of lonely meals in her future.

"Well, hello, love," someone chirped cheerfully above her. It was Dr. Beckett. "Mind if I join you?"

"Of course! Please, sit." She gestured at the open seat across from her and smiled, pleased to have company after all.

He shot her a pleasant, but frank expression of sympathy, "It's a bit much, isn't it? Coming to Atlantis, I mean."

She looked at him with surprise. Either he could read her thoughts or it was written all over her face. "It certainly is." She smiled and shook her head.

"So," he said, with a lighthearted smile, waving his napkin in the air, "have you discovered the benefits of having the ATA gene? You know, lights turn on for you, doors open for you, room and shower always perfect temperature? There aren't too many of us here with the naturally expressed gene, you know. It's just myself, Colonel Shepherd, and now you. There are many others who have undergone the gene therapy, but it isn't exactly the same, you know."

She smiled. "I've been experimenting with it a little bit and it is just extraordinary, isn't it? Feels sort of. . . magic. But the ATA gene therapy doesn't fully reproduce the effect? Why would that be?"

"Well, we aren't completely sure and we're still working on it, though it isn't a priority since it works well enough as it is now, but I suspect that those of us with the natural genes are either homozygous dominant or—" He paused as he leaned across the length of the table for the salt.

"Meaning both of our parents gave us a copy of the ATA gene, right—two copies?" she put in, thinking back to her college genetics course.

He looked surprised. "Yes, exactly. That would be exceedingly rare. The gene itself is rare enough, but for both parents to have a copy and for both copies to actually appear in one of their offspring is statistically, well, I haven't calculated it exactly, but it's mind-boggling." He busied himself with opening his water. "I've tested Colonel Sheppard and he actually is homozygous dominant—which, as I said, should be nearly impossible, but was likely the norm among the Ancients. I believe it explains why he's so proficient with the technology. It's quite intuitive for him—he achieves the neural interface effortlessly. I, however, am heterozygous dominant. I have one ATA gene and one recessive gene—the recessive gene being the common gene for humans, of course—and my experience with the tech is not quite as easy as the Colonel's."

She wrinkled her brow, thinking it through. "Oh, so this controls the level of gene expression, you think?"

Beckett nodded, looking impressed with her deduction. "I do. It's not much of a sample size, to be sure, but I do think it plays a role. If you think about the genes for height or hair color, for example—we do know they, at least, have an additive effect. Two fairly short-statured parents can produce a quite tall offspring if each parent happens to donate the particular chromosome with more height-encoding alleles. It's much the same with hair color." He gestured at her. "Say, for example, hypothetically, it takes ten alleles that code for brown to cause the gene expression for dark brown hair like mine, then it would take but four or five to code for the lovely chestnut color of yours. It's far more complex than that, of course, but you get the general idea."

She swallowed and said, "That's just fascinating. I'd be curious to know where I fall."

He raised his eyebrows and waved his fork around. "It's simple enough to test. I have blood samples from your stay in the infirmary. I'd be happy to test them, simply to satisfy my own curiosity. I could set up a PCR and run a gel tomorrow if there aren't any major crises to interfere."

She smiled. "Thanks, that would be wonderful."

He sent her a conspiratorial look. "Just you wait til they expect you to start flying jumpers and they need you to initialize every bit of equipment they're using. God forbid they expect you to sit in the control chair. Actually, I imagine they will test you on that, like they have everyone else. They have a ranking system. I'm number two behind Colonel Sheppard. It'll be interesting to see where you rank after we see what your gene status is."

"Hm." She frowned worriedly. "I can't really see myself doing any of those things."

He nodded with chagrin. "Well, I've always felt the same way, but sometimes it's necessary to have all hands on deck, so to speak. It's better now that so many of the personnel have had the gene therapy, though."

They ate in silence for a while and she realized he never explained why the gene therapy didn't work as well. "But, um, so the gene therapy, it would mimic heterozygous dominance, wouldn't it? Why isn't it the same?"

He nodded and swallowed. "Well, we've come a long way with somatic gene therapy, but it's still in its infancy. I can only assume we aren't getting full coverage of the somatic cells. With fewer cells expressing the genes, fewer of the proteins and enzymes are produced that make the interface with the technology possible. The therapy is a watered-down version of it, really. We're lucky it works at all. But it does work, about fifty percent of the time. There are quite a few people who have an immune response to the vector, a mouse retrovirus, and they simply can't incorporate the gene at all."

Dr. Beckett started tucking back into the food on his tray, then looked up and seemed to be distracted by something he saw across the room. He raised his hand to flag someone down, "Rodney, I'd like you to meet someone—"

"Not now Carson. I've got to talk to Sheppard." Dr. McKay hurried by, his face buried in a tablet computer, precariously balancing a tray laden with food out in front of him.

Emily held her breath as he went by, bending over her own food to hide her expression as her heart pounded in her chest, chiding herself for being such a fool.

But it was Dr. Beckett who looked sheepish. "You'll have to forgive Dr. McKay. He has a one-track-mind, I'm afraid."

She smiled nervously. "It looks like he's busy."

"Yes. Isn't he always?" he said with a frown.

* * *

The next morning Dr. Elizabeth Weir stopped in the lab to see how Emily was settling in. "Dr. Beckett told me you were released from the infirmary yesterday. I see you've already done some rearranging?"

"Yes. This group of artifacts appears to be very similar to some things we've already studied on Earth." Emily gestured to a small grouping laid out on a nearby stainless steel workbench. "That just needs to be confirmed, of course. This other group is completely unknown, but is well-marked and shouldn't present much problem in determining function."

"Good. But there were far more objects placed in this lab over the last 2 years—" Weir broke in quizzically.

"Yes. I locked the rest away in this set of compartments," she said, indicating the stainless steel cabinets. "Those artifacts are unmarked with anything I recognize and will need to be examined with the utmost care. Because I have the ATA gene, I could initialize them with minimal contact and not even realize it. Then anyone touching them could be affected adversely. It's far better to keep them isolated."

_Those are the dangerous ones_, she thought. The ones that no sane person would volunteer to touch, much less handle for extended periods of time—each passing hour increasing the chance that an accident could occur. But. . . this was the nature of her work. One aspect anyway. Despite the single accident that had shaken her confidence to the very marrow, she knew that she was good at it.

Weir was nodding agreement.

"It looks like they've been well-cataloged so far, so I'll be cross-referencing the locations of their discovery in the database in hopes that we can find some clues about what these instruments do before we start work on any of them."

Weir regarded her thoughtfully. "I appreciate your caution. How about the translations? Tell me about your plans for that."

"Of course. I brought along the beginnings of translation software that I've been developing. But I'll need some assistance from the computer specialists here to interface with the Ancient database and to further develop the software. My own programming skills are. . . poor, quite frankly. I don't have much experience in that area. If I can communicate what I need and we can get something going over the next few months, we should be able to quickly make some headway on the list you left for me. But until that happens, I'll work on the translations manually."

"Have you met Dr. McKay yet?"

"No, not yet." She willed her expression to remain pleasantly engaged, nothing more.

"I'll send him down so you can talk about what kind of assistance you need in detail."

Weir excused herself and Emily sat down to work, trying not to quiver with the anticipation of meeting McKay. Not knowing when or where she would finally meet him was unsettling. She consciously avoided thinking of him, but from time to time her mind would spontaneously wander and she would catch herself daydreaming, with images from the dreams burbling to the surface, filling her with foreign feelings that she didn't recognize and didn't know how to handle.

She knew, realistically, that the whole thing was insane. There was no reason to think that the dreams were anything more than a figment of her imagination. Though how her imagination could have conjured a real person she hadn't actually met, she had no idea. Most disconcerting was the fact that she couldn't actually remember the encounter with the artifact. Her scribbled notes from that day were the only evidence that the event had even occurred. Without the revelation the notes provided, would she have been driven to act unconsciously? Was that the intended design of the device? It was a scary thought. She was lucky to know, to be able to remain consciously aware of it, and to maintain control. Yes, she had let it bring her here—but merely to satisfy her curiosity. She wouldn't necessarily act on anything. She just hoped she wasn't jeopardizing her career with this absurdity. With effort, she stifled her jangled nerves and focused on her work.

* * *

Emily quickly fell into her regular work rituals, which meant that she only stopped long enough to eat and sleep. Coffee, in quantity throughout the day, allowed her to sublimate the latter as much as possible. Back home, it would have been diet coke, but that wasn't possible here. So, military-grade coffee with generic blue packets of artificial sweetener was doing the job. It was so easy to become obsessed with a translation or an object and spend hours with it, checking and cross-checking facts, only stopping when fatigue or hunger completely intruded into her mental space. It seemed to be hard for most people to understand, but this was her happy place.

She forgot about McKay, whom she still hadn't encountered, and happily employed a computer specialist that he sent in his place. He didn't interrupt her much, just worked doggedly at the tasks she laid out for him. He quickly got a laptop interfaced with the Ancient database and started writing code for the translation software.

What she was asking for was complicated. Ancient was a highly nuanced and complex language. It was critical that the many layers of meaning within a combination of words, especially if one of those words contained an inverted letter, would be revealed. Dr. Walters told her he would get the basic structure in place, but that other team members would need to be rotated through to try to achieve the level of detail that she was insisting on.

Ancient—or more properly, Alteran—was similar in many ways to Latin. It was likely the foundation of Latin, albeit with a completely different alphabet. Yet there was one important aspect to Ancient that had been largely overlooked in the early years of the Stargate program—sometimes certain letters were inverted. To the uninitiated, it seemed to mean very little, but her research, particularly with regards to the Lantean dialect, had shown that it actually added layers of meaning to a word that could completely change the tone of a document, if one was in the know. It was a secret code within the language itself. It really took an expert to get the full meaning from a text—and that was her.


	3. Chapter 3 resistere resist

Rodney shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying not to scratch at the gazillions of tiny insect bites covering his forearms and lower legs. He was stuck in the large conference room for an afternoon of long, boring meetings. First had been the mission debriefing about that morning's mission. John told Elizabeth about the hot, sweaty, fruitless trek across a prairie to an abandoned Ancient outpost—which was completely empty. Someone had dismantled it and carted off all the technology years ago.

On the way back to the gate, Rodney had stumbled over an insect mound, hidden in the dense, tall grass, and had been immediately swarmed by a low-flying, black cloud of some kind of malevolent, biting, ant-like insect. Their bites burned like fire and he had unwittingly screamed like a little girl, firing into the mound with his P-90, which enraged them even more, until he finally outran them or they lost interest in the chase—he wasn't sure which. Ronon and John were having a field-day at his expense now, snickering and snarking and even Teyla was trying hard to keep a straight face. Her normally serious expression occasionally giving way to a hint of amusement.

They would have been very sorry if he'd gone into anaphylactic shock. Luckily for all of them, he hadn't reacted to the bites like he would have to bee venom. He decided he'd better start keeping an epi-pen in his tac vest from now on, though, just in case.

Carson wasn't any help. He gave him some worthless cream and sent him on his way. Rodney suppressed a groan and cringed. He hoped he wasn't in for any nasty surprises from the bites. God, he hated biology. It was so revoltingly messy—not neat and tidy and intellectual like physics. He could go a lifetime without seeing another bug and be perfectly happy, never missing them. He considered throwing that in Sheppard's face, but consoled himself with the knowledge that he was being the bigger man.

"Do you have anything to add, Rodney?" Elizabeth asked.

She, at least, wasn't laughing.

He glared at John and Ronon. "No, no. They said enough," he grit out.

"Ok. Teyla, Ronon, could you please send in Dr. Beckett for the senior staff meeting?"

They nodded and escaped, Ronon patting him on the shoulder with an amused look on his face, before walking out.

Then he had to sit and listen as Carson droned on about medical supplies, what they needed and what they could spare in trade, as Elizabeth made notes. Then he went through all the injuries and illnesses over the last week and how his numerous patients were recovering from their tedious afflictions.

Then it was John's turn. He was thankfully more succinct, outlining their supply of munitions. There weren't any impending threats hanging over their heads, so John didn't have much to say. They talked for a while about the rumors that there was some super-hero running rampant through the galaxy, saving people from local raiders and killing Wraith. Elizabeth told John to pin down where this super-hero hailed from so they could go check it out.

Then Elizabeth brought up the archeologist that had recently come through from Earth.

"Mm. Fainty McPuke's-a-lot?" he murmured with a smirk. But Elizabeth frowned and Carson rebuked him. So he sighed and listened to them talk with arms folded, surreptitiously scratching whenever he could. The itch was maddening.

Carson said he'd released her from observation after twenty-four hours and that she had recovered quickly from her trip through the intergalactic bridge. He said he couldn't find anything in all the testing he'd done that would indicate why she had such a reaction to gate travel.

"Hello. It's psychosomatic," Rodney put in.

"Well, that's what the doctors on Earth thought, but I'm not so sure. The way she describes her trip through the void is quite detailed—poetic even. I think there must be something to her story."

"Poetic? You said she passes out, throws up. What's poetic about that?" he asked incredulously.

"She says she can see the wormhole, Rodney," Carson said with exasperation. "She experiences movement through space."

He huffed and grinned with disbelief. "Yeah, right."

"You think that's impossible, then?" Elizabeth asked, frowning at him.

He tilted his head, conceding a little bit. "Well, no, not impossible. But pretty unlikely. Hundreds of people from Earth have experienced gate travel and here in Pegasus, everyone does it. We've never heard reports of anyone experiencing anything like this before."

"Maybe. But it's not a question we ask every bloody person we meet, now is it? You don't know that it isn't a rare phenomenon here or anywhere else. Oh—and she has a natural ATA gene," Carson commented, with raised eyebrows. "She's heterozygous dominant, like I am."

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Well, that would make it even less likely, then, wouldn't it? I mean, come on—they were the gate builders. Why would they rampantly use a technology that made their people sick? It's ridiculous. This woman clearly has issues."

Elizabeth held up her hand to put an end to the discussion. "Well, regardless, she's here and she's one of the most valuable linguists on Earth. We're lucky to have her. She has some interesting proposals and the IOA has very high expectations for her work. What kind of support staff have you set her up with?" she asked Rodney pointedly.

He shifted in his chair. "She's using one of my best computer specialists right now for her software," he said, annoyed.

"And?"

"What? She hasn't asked for anything else."

"At the SGC she supervised a team of scientists, dedicated solely for the purpose of researching artifacts and devices. Her work comes highly rated. They say she is thorough, cautious, brilliant. It would be foolish not to utilize those talents here as well."

"I've read her file," he said flatly, rubbing his shoe against one of his legs under the table.

"Give her a team, Rodney."

He sighed. They'd already argued about this and Elizabeth wasn't budging. He was thinking about rehashing it, bringing up some new arguments, but Elizabeth headed him off with a distraction.

"Ok, you said you wanted to talk about Arcturis? You said you have a new idea to make that work? Let's hear it," she said, staring at him unblinkingly.

He sat up and cleared his throat. He knew it was going to be hard to convince Elizabeth to have anything more to do with the project, which she clearly considered a dead topic now.

"Yes, yes. I came up with a new idea and I've taken the liberty of doing some of the preliminary math. I think it's doable."

Elizabeth leaned in, her brow furrowed. "What is it?"

"Well, the idea is. . . an alternate reality drive. I could create a drive, to be installed on one of our ships or a jumper, that would propel the occupants through the dimensional rift so they could map and explore all the relevant alternate realities."

"And the purpose of this would be? How is this related to Arcturis?" she asked, her eyes narrowed.

"Well, our last experiment with the interdimensional bridge worked. It was successful—except that we tapped into an alternate reality that was inhabited by some of our counterparts." He shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "If we could map these realities and come up with a way to use the bridge to connect with a reality that's uninhabited, then we'd be golden, wouldn't we?"

John leaned forward. "Except Rod said his whole galaxy was about to explode, Rodney. Doesn't it seem unlikely that there would be an entire galaxy that was uninhabited?" John asked, looking uncharacteristically thoughtful.

"Yes, yes. I know what he said. I think I've found a way around that."

"You think?" Carson asked, frowning.

"Well, there's no way to be certain unless we try. That's why it's called experimentation," he said impatiently. "Look, I can do this. I know it sounds ambitious, but it could be the answer to everything. No one could stop us if we finally got this right. The Wraith would be like bugs to us if we had that kind of power."

"Bugs, huh?" John asked, smirking, clearly referring to the morning's excitement.

"Har har," he replied before John made some other joke to take the focus off his work. "I'm serious and this is important," he ground out. He looked at Elizabeth expectantly.

She was sitting up straight in her seat, looking contemplative. "No," she said, firmly with a small shake of her head.

"No, what?"

"No. You will not pursue an alternate reality drive."

"What? Why not?" he demanded.

"It's inherently too dangerous. There are plenty of other, more pressing problems that you can devote your efforts to."

"There is nothing more pressing than energy generation, Elizabeth. I can do this. I can make it safe. If it takes me years to create the math—I can do it."

"No," she repeated sternly, and started to gather her things together as though concluding the meeting.

He tried taking a softer tone to appeal to her. "Wait a minute. Don't just dismiss this, Elizabeth. I know I've made mistakes. But this is bigger than all of us. This is huge. I can make it work. I know I can."

"Rodney, I don't doubt that you could. But at what cost? Arcturis is your achilles heel. I'm protecting you from yourself. We're not desperate enough to try something that incredibly risky and I don't believe we ever will be. It's not worth it."

"But, I—"

"This conversation is closed. You will not devote any more time to this project. The project is dead." She got up to go.

He watched her leave and muttered, "Damn it," under his breath. He'd been afraid she would react this way.

"Sorry, buddy," John said as he got up to follow Elizabeth out of the conference room. "I know you were just itching to work on this project," he said with a smirk.

"Very funny," he said without humor, feeling completely deflated. He grabbed his laptop and walked out in a huff, intending to take a long walk through the city to cool off and think of some new strategies that might convince Elizabeth. But he hadn't gotten far before he changed his mind and headed back to his quarters to draw a bath in an attempt to soak the itch out of the insect bites.

* * *

Emily hurried to the mess. She'd just shaken herself out of a work-induced trance and realized that the evening hot-meal service was almost over. If she didn't hurry, she'd be stuck with sandwiches again, like last time.

When she arrived, the food was still warming in its chafing trays. She grabbed a tray and started making some selections when a woman came up beside her, making selections of her own. The woman was a little shorter than Emily with light brown skin and exotic eyes.

"Excuse me, are you Dr. Freedman?" the woman asked with a smile.

Emily furrowed her brow and said, "Yes?"

"Dr. Beckett has spoken of you. I recognized you from his description. I am Teyla."

"Oh. Teyla? Teyla Emmagan? Of Athos?"

"Yes. Has someone been speaking of me as well?" Teyla raised her eyebrows.

"Oh. Oh, no," Emily stammered. "I read a report about you—" She picked up her tray and edged over a bit.

Teyla looked surprised and followed her.

"Oh, well, about everyone here in Atlantis. I read every report I could get my hands on before I came." She paused. _Crap_. She was terrible at this. She stuck out her hand. "I'm Emily." Teyla looked slightly amused and like she was about to return the gesture, but Emily snatched her hand back and said, "Oh, crap, that gesture doesn't mean anything to you, does it? I'm sorry."

Someone was clearing their throat behind Teyla and Emily realized she was holding up the line. She made a few more selections and grabbed a bottle of water. Sitting down with a heavy sigh at an empty table, she pushed her fingers through her hair, feeling ridiculous and inept.

Emily looked up to see someone setting down a tray across from her. It was Teyla, she realized with surprise. Teyla stuck out her hand, smiling, and Emily shook, smiling ruefully back.

Teyla took a seat and began to speak, "Dr. Beckett tells me you are an archeologist? Please forgive my ignorance—what does this mean, exactly?"

"Oh, there is nothing to forgive," she said, shaking her head and regarding Teyla thoughtfully. "Well, on Earth, typically, an archeologist goes to a location that is known to be the site of an extinct civilization. We excavate the site to recover and examine material remains—tools, pottery fragments, graves and so on. We study them to gain a better understanding of the lost civilization and its culture."

"These objects have been buried in the soil, over time?" Teyla asked, looking at her curiously as she took a bite of food.

"Usually, yes. Within the Stargate program, however, my job is quite different. No digging. We focus on recovery and understanding of objects, mostly pieces of technology, that are brought through the gate. We will eventually set up dig sites in the Milky Way, I suppose, but for now, well, we've barely scratched the surface of what's out there."

"You are a linguist as well?"

"Yes. A large part of my work has always been translating texts and documents. . . ." Emily looked up to see a giant of a man setting his tray down next to Teyla. His head was crowned with an enormous mop of dreadlocks and he had a somewhat sinister-looking goatee. His attire looked entirely handmade and while his imposing stature was disconcerting, she couldn't help but narrow her eyes at the stitching, wondering what the materials were and how the garments had been constructed.

"Hi," he said gruffly, briefly making eye contact before concentrating on his food.

"Ah, hello?" Emily squeaked, realizing with dismay that three more people were joining them. Dr. Beckett was setting his tray down next to her, she noted with some relief. Her eyes darted around and her heart came to a stop. There was a man with spiky, tousled, dark hair that she didn't recognize, and there was. . . McKay. She fuzzily became aware that Dr. Beckett was speaking to her.

"—met Teyla and Ronon. Have you had the opportunity yet to meet Colonel Sheppard or Dr. McKay?" he was asking.

Ronon? Must be Ronon Dex—also from this galaxy, she remembered, glancing at him again. His story was fascinating. She itched to bombard him with questions about his time running from the Wraith.

She glanced at Beckett, who was looking at her expectantly and she blinked, rewinding her mind to what he had just said to her. "Oh, um, no, I haven't." Her gaze slid cautiously to McKay. He was focused on his food, just like Dex.

"Ok, then. This is Lt. Colonel John Sheppard and Dr. Rodney McKay," Carson said, gesturing. Sheppard nodded at her and McKay looked up, grimacing at her. Beckett was continuing, "This is Dr. Emily Freedman, our new archeologist."

Emily realized she had read about all of these people in mission reports. This was Atlantis' flagship team, the Pegasus version of SG-1. McKay's team. So, she was finally meeting McKay.

_Suck it up_, she told herself sternly. _Quit acting like a shambling fool and be smart, professional. Be. . . charming or something. Smile, dammit!_

She smiled timidly. "It's a pleasure to meet all of you," she stammered. "Please, call me Emily."

"Rodney, quit scratching," Beckett admonished. Emily glanced sideways at him curiously.

McKay looked miserable. "I can't. It's so damn itchy. That cream you gave me was worthless."

"You'll give yourself cellulitis," Beckett said censoriously.

McKay's eyes went wide and he stared at Beckett. "Oh, that sounds bad. What's that?"

Carson frowned. "A nasty skin infection. Come down to the infirmary after we're done here and I'll give you something else to put on it."

"Something stronger?"

"Obviously."

"Oh, thank God," McKay said, clearly relieved.

Teyla looked at Emily and said, "Dr. McKay was. . . accosted by a swarm of flying insects today on a mission." She was nodding solemnly.

"Oh, really? I hate going off-world," Emily offered, her eyes darting at McKay.

"They wouldn't have accosted him, if he'd kept his gun in its holster," Ronon commented gruffly, looking amused.

"Hey, I'll have you know, they were accosting me before I ever touched my weapon," McKay growled, glaring malevolently at his team members.

"Right," Sheppard put in.

Was he smirking at McKay? _Wow._ That was weird.

Emily cast an inquisitive eye around the table. Everyone seemed to be trying to contain amusement, except for McKay, who seemed to be angry and frustrated.

"You're all going to be very sorry when I start dying a slow, agonizing death from the deadly venom they probably released into my system," McKay spat out.

"Rodney—" Beckett started to say.

But McKay cut him off, "Or, or—there are gazillions of alien larvae crawling out of my skin, consuming everything in their path. Who knows what these things are capable of!" He was looking at them with wild, tortured eyes.

Emily furrowed her brow. "Perhaps it would be wise to send a team of entomologists to this planet to take a look at these insects," she ventured.

McKay glared at Sheppard and Carson and held out a hand, gesturing at Emily. "See. The voice of reason," he said. Then he looked worried, thoughtful. "Oh, God, I should really do that." He started to reach for the radio on his ear.

"Rodney," Teyla said, in a very maternal fashion, stilling his action. "My people have encountered these insects before. They are harmless. Children are commonly afflicted with their bites when playing in the tall grass. The itch will subside in a day or two. Nothing bad is going to happen, I assure you."

"Don't you think you could have told me that sooner!" he exclaimed in disbelief.

Ronon huffed and grinned. "Yeah. She could have. But I'm sure glad she didn't."

Emily surveyed the others. Carson was looking down at his tray, his lips twitching. Sheppard and Ronon were openly smirking at McKay. McKay was shaking his head and looking resentful. _Poor guy_, she thought empathetically. She knew exactly how he felt, she realized, watching him shoveling food in his mouth and staring at the table morosely. He looked up at her, then, and she glanced away, startled.

They sat in silence for a few moments. She looked at Teyla, the only one with a sober expression besides McKay, and wondered if she should address her as such, or as Miss Emmagan. She had introduced herself as Teyla, though.

"Teyla," she started, nervously. "I am curious about your culture. It's my understanding that it's a matriarchal society? Is this correct?" She finally stuck her fork into her food and took a bite.

"Indeed it was—long, long ago. We are more. . . egalitarian now, I suppose, but the preponderance of our leaders, even over the last several generations, have been women."

"Oh, that's just fascinating," Emily mused. "That's quite rare in the Milky Way. Is it more common here?"

Teyla looked thoughtful. "No, I do not believe it to be common here, either," she said, taking another bite of food.

"Would you be willing to discuss this with me sometime, in depth? I. . . It's really more anthropology than archeology, I suppose, but I would like to learn more about your cultural norms, history, _et cetera_."

"Certainly. I would be honored to share these things with you," Teyla said, smiling.

Emily returned her smile brightly. But something about Teyla's manner suddenly made her ask with dismay, "Someone's already done this, asked you these questions, haven't they?"

Teyla tilted her head to the side and blinked slowly, "Yes, actually, they have. But I do not mind—"

"Corrigan!" Emily spat out, without thinking. "He came with the original expedition, but didn't stick around. He never filed a complete report, either!" she said angrily and eyed Teyla with a frown, feeling dejected.

Teyla smiled indulgently and said. "I could do him one better and take you to New Athos, where you could meet an elder and ask your questions of many of my people, not just myself."

"Oh, that would be lovely," she breathed with excitement, before she remembered that would mean she would have to go through the gate. She was formulating some kind of polite refusal of the invitation when she was distracted.

Sheppard was clearing his throat. "So, I hear we have something in common? How does that work, Carson? Are we all related or something?"

Beckett paused with his fork in the air, considering. "I suppose it's possible, but very unlikely. Quite a number of the Ancients escaped to Earth and it's unknown where they settled, precisely. Geographically speaking there is little way to tell, since you Americans are typically from all over the globe, but I suppose it's possible we could share a common ancestor. It would be interesting to map the gene and see if there are differences between the three of us, but that would take a lot of time and resources."

Sheppard made a face like that was more information than he was really asking for. "So, you've been in Atlantis for about a week now, right? What do you think of it?"

The others were watching her intently. "Well, you know—it's incredible, really. My quarters. . . are beautiful. The working environment is a great step up from the SGC—it's nice to have ocean views and actual windows with sunlight after working underground, surrounded by concrete walls for five years. The work is. . . absolutely amazing."

He nodded at her and turned back to his food.

She hesitated. She should follow that up, she prodded herself. "Dr. McKay?"

McKay regarded her warily.

"Ah." She realized her mouth was open. _Shut it and talk_, she yelled at herself inside her own head. "Well, of course, I realize you are a busy man and, ah, I can see that you are preoccupied right now, but, ah. . . ."

"Yes?"

_Oh, crap._ He looked annoyed. _Spit. It. Out._ "Well, I was promised that a small science team would be at my disposal to work with me on the devices I've been studying, like I had at Stargate Command."

He let out what looked like a long-suffering sigh. "Yes, yes, I know all about your aspirations to steal more of my personnel. You've got Walker—isn't that enough?"

"You mean Walters? Steal? No, no. The IOA promised. . . I mean. . . what?" she floundered.

"Oh, I know they let you play scientist over at the SGC, but we take things a little more seriously around here. Just focus on your translation work and leave the real science to me, ok?" He was waving his hand in dismissal.

Her cheeks were flaming and she felt anger slowly mounting. He was having a bad day. This was not the right time to bring this up, she realized with regret. "I can see we'll have to discuss this another time," she said hotly.

"If you insist," he replied derisively.

She openly scrutinized him, frowning, disbelieving that this was the same man from the dreams. Where was that warm, crinkly smile now? So, the gossip was true. He was surly and arrogant. _Damn it_. What did that mean? Twenty or thirty years from now she could expect to be saddled with that? _No, thank you._

"Rodney, I think Elizabeth—" Beckett was saying.

"Stay out of it, Carson," McKay warned.

She glanced at Dr. Beckett who frowned at McKay and then turned to look at her sympathetically. She looked down at her tray, struggling to keep her emotions in check. After a moment, she resumed eating, keeping her eyes cast down, wondering how in the hell she was going to manage all this now with a hostile employer to contend with on top of everything else. _Dammit! _She had traversed an entire galaxy for this? How incredibly stupid was she? The table fell silent for a few long minutes. Everyone focused on their food.

She fidgeted a little. The silence was so uncomfortable. Why didn't anyone say anything? She sighed, knowing she wouldn't be able to help herself from filling it. She glanced at Teyla again. "I hope you don't think this is too presumptuous. But. . . if I could make it to New Athos, I wonder if it would be possible to visit at a mealtime, to taste a traditional dish of Pegasus, maybe even observe native preparations, if possible?"

Teyla smiled. "That isn't presumptuous at all. We share nourishment with visitors as a matter of custom."

Beckett looked intrigued. "So, Emily? Do you like to cook, then?"

She snorted softly and sat back, feeling suddenly relaxed, drunk with disbelief, knowing that her entire journey was a farce and that now she would have to pay for her naiveté with two years of service in another galaxy—if she could survive that long.

"Yes, but I'm not very good at it." She smiled ruefully at him. "I've been known to bake a batch of brownies or cookies, now and then. I can follow a simple recipe, like that, of course. Anyone can. But actual cooking, you know, of really delicious food, is really more of an art, though, isn't it? It takes practice, skill, intuition." She shook her head. "Despite my interest, I don't really have the free time. And when you're a work-aholic like me, of course, cafeterias are like manna from heaven."

"Amen to that." McKay interjected.

She glanced at him, bemused by his comment, and went on, "It's hard to justify the time, but I do sort of putter around in the kitchen occasionally. It rarely turns out well and usually I have to order pizza or something. I used to watch some cooking shows from time to time—watch enough Food Network and you do pick up things."

"I always thought the only good thing on that channel was Iron Chef." Sheppard said indolently, leaning back in his chair.

"Iron Chef?" Teyla asked, her eyebrows raised expectantly.

"Well, it's this show from Japan," Sheppard replied. "Totally intense. Two chefs go head to head, like a battle, to see who's better at cooking with the secret ingredient, which they reveal just moments before they start cooking. They take it very seriously." He nodded his head solemnly.

"A chef battle? Two people cookin'?" Ronon cocked one brow and exuded consternation. He shook his head and his gravelly voice muttered, "Earth is weird."

"Television sounds like such a strange form of entertainment to me," Teyla mused, shaking her head as well.

Emily stared blankly at Ronon and Teyla. _These two people were warriors. Warriors. _ She was sitting across from. . . Xena and. . . Conan the Barbarian. Scratch that. No. No. She was sitting across from two people far cooler than Xena and Conan could ever be because they were real people. And she was talking about cooking shows? _They're right. Earth is weird._

"You're right. Earth is weird," she found herself saying, looking at them with fascination. "We're really stupid, Earthlings are, because we're isolated. We—they—don't know that all of this exists outside their little sphere. They think their great blue ball is it—they really, actually, think they're alone. So they make up all these things that they think are important—crazy things like television, just to fill the time, to relieve the boredom. So many people I know back on Earth are doing truly great things—tremendous things that will benefit humanity. But if they knew about you two, they could do so much more, couldn't they? If they knew about the Wraith, the Ori, the Goa Uld, they wouldn't be sitting back watching television, would they? No. No. Their world would expand. The scope would be different. They would be transformed. They would fight for you, for your people. Maybe not all of them, but many, many would. I wish they could know. If it were up to me. . . they would."

Emily blinked and realized she'd just said all of that, rather passionately, out loud. She squirmed in her chair and looked down at her food. Ronon and Teyla had been staring at her as she spoke. They probably thought she was rabid or something. She really had to learn to keep her lips on tighter rein.

"Did it change you, when you knew?" Ronon asked, his low voice sounding a bit softer, she thought.

She looked up, surprised to see Ronon and Teyla watching her speculatively, no trace of amusement on their faces.

"Yes. It did," she said quietly. "Deciphering things isn't a game any more for me, like it used to be. I used to think of my work as an endless series of puzzles. I thought it was cool to be paid a living wage to get to live outside for part of each year, dig in the dirt, work out mysterious codes and learn new languages. Now. . . well, now lives are on the line. If I make a mistake, someone could get hurt. It matters now. Translating a Phoenician codex or finding a Minoan sculpture is fascinating, but it doesn't change anything, won't help anyone. But. . . translating an Ancient document or figuring out how one of their devices work—that could actually change many lives for the better. My work is important," she said evenly, without resentment, and made sure she didn't so much as glance in McKay's direction.

McKay clapped a couple of times. "How noble. You see, this is what a liberal arts education will get you. Lovely sentiments, but, ah, not a lot of actual progress." McKay was nodding slowly in a dramatic fashion, speaking sardonically, his eyebrows raised. "Little Suzy Homemaker here, might have—"

"Shut it, Rodney," Beckett barked peremptorily.

"Yeah, shut up McKay," Ronon growled, and jabbed McKay in the side with the heel of his knife.

"Ow!" McKay yelped. "Son-of-a—! What the hell was that for?"

"No reason. 'Cept you're an ass. I'm going to get more food." Ronon stood, frowning, and nodded at Emily, then walked away.

Emily watched, bewildered. The others all had various forms of thunderous and disapproving expressions pointed at McKay. What just happened? Why was McKay being such an ass and what had made them tell him so? He was their friend, clearly, but they wouldn't suffer him to hurt the feelings of a stranger? What, had they liked her ridiculous speech?

Dr. Beckett patted her hand. "That was lovely, Emily. Don't listen to Rodney. He's a bloody beast on a good day and today I'm afraid he has a bee in his bonnet."

Rodney was glaring at Beckett. "Are we about done here? Because I think I might be bleeding in a couple of places from the scratching." He was distractedly rubbing his sleeve against his arm.

Beckett patted her hand a couple times more, saying, "Yes, Rodney. Let's go. And while we're there, let's see if we have anything for foot-in-mouth disease, shall we? Ya wee nippet gomeril."

Emily gasped with understanding, finding herself pressing her fingers to her lips and trying hard not to smile or giggle. She realized she wasn't entirely successful as she watched Beckett and McKay rise to return their trays.

"Oh, ye got that, did ye now?" Beckett chuckled. "It's going to be interesting having a linguist on board, I see."

Emily fought the amusement she felt, afraid it might bubble over into hysterical laughter. Her rattled nerves were making her feel a little unhinged. She looked up from her tray to see Teyla with wide, curious eyes, watching her.

"What did Dr. Beckett just say?" Teyla asked softly.

Emily drew a shaky breath. "Oh, um, he, um, just called Dr. McKay a. . . very small, incredibly bad-tempered. . . fool." She pressed her lips together and glanced at Sheppard who nodded with a ghost of a smile and kept eating. Teyla made a face like she was both amused and impressed.


	4. Chapter 4 dissensio dissent

A few days later, Walters told Emily he'd reached a point in writing the code where he would need some input from someone with more experience before he could move forward. She would need to talk to McKay about getting some other team members involved. He suggested that Dr. Zelenka or McKay himself were the experts when it came to writing complicated code.

Emily frowned. She had zero experience dealing with difficult supervisors and didn't have a clue how to approach McKay—Jackson and Lee were diametric opposites of him. She was completely unnerved by his contemptuous dismissal of her. If thoughts of the ridiculous dreams popped into her head, she stomped on them. She was determined to focus on her work, yet that was a source of frustration because she didn't have the resources she needed to get it done—because of him! She'd been told that her needs would be a priority. Apparently no one told McKay. Or he didn't care.

She surveyed her lab in disbelief. She had left behind a comfortable, relatively safe life—where she had finally established a few solid friendships—where her work was rewarding, fulfilling, and a source of real happiness. Now she was alone in another galaxy, in actual, real peril, just by virtue of her location, her work, her integrity, dismissed as unimportant.

She'd done this to herself, by hoping for something that apparently she just wasn't meant to have. That was just. . . she didn't want to think about that. She had thoughts of returning to the SGC, but dismissed them. She had signed a contract, but that wasn't all. There was something about this place that had seduced her. It was peaceful here, serene, filled with light and beauty. Her ancestor had lived here and fled to Earth ten thousand years before and that gave her a sense of tangible connection going far beyond the fascinating sensation of being able to control doors and lights with her thoughts. Then there was the intellectual curiosity that she couldn't deny. This place was a treasure trove of art, architecture and technology—an archeological find unlike anything she could dream of. She couldn't leave it. Not yet.

If she was going to stay, she would have to fight for what she needed. She just wasn't sure how that would be accomplished. She knew she was stubborn and that could be useful, but her first concern was how to control her temper so she didn't sound like a lunatic. She mentally braced herself and asked Walters to show her where she could find McKay. When she learned his lab was just down the hall from her own, she was supremely annoyed. He had not stopped by once to check on her progress, the surly bastard.

The main science lab was a hive of activity. She tracked down McKay who was hunched over a laptop typing furiously. "Dr. McKay?"

"Yes." He didn't look up.

"I am returning Walters to you and need to discuss bringing in another computer specialist. In addition, I would like to brief a team of people who could be helpful with the other projects in my lab. If I could present my ideas and protocols once, it would save a lot of time."

Moments passed and he still hadn't looked up. She frowned and took a step closer. "Dr. McKay? Excuse me, Dr. McKay, can I please have your attention for a moment? Perhaps an appointment at a later time would be better?"

McKay finally looked up at her, irritation plain on his face. "What? Dr. Freed. Yes. No. There's never a better time," he said, glancing at her derisively. Then he shifted his gaze to speak loudly to someone across the room, "Radek! That simulation didn't work either. We'll have to narrow the parameters. Try . . . uh," he stared off in space, right hand working at an invisible keyboard, "one-third less power, ok?"

"Yes!" a frazzled man she assumed was Dr. Radek Zelenka rolled his eyes from across the room. She could have sworn she heard him mutter in Czech that he had suggested that an hour before.

"It's Freedman," she said, feeling her face flush and a little heat seep into her voice.

"Hm?" he murmured distractedly.

"My name is Freedman, Dr. McKay," she said, perhaps louder than she intended.

McKay's eyes finally came to rest on her, seemingly for the first time. He inspected her appraisingly, not distracted for the moment. "Yes?" he demanded.

Emily sighed and refrained from reminding him that her face was at the top of her body, not under her blue uniform shirt. "I'm returning Walters."

"Yes, I heard that," he said flatly, his attention returning to the computer screen.

"A team, then? A programmer?"

McKay rolled his eyes. "We're busy. It's hard to spare anyone."

She was going to have to be firmer. She tried to control her voice so she wouldn't sound angry. "Dr. McKay, we would all benefit from better translation in our work."

"I already wrote perfectly adequate translation software." He waved his hand dismissively, starting to turn away.

She blocked him and strove to appeal to him intellectually, "Yes. It's serviceable. It's adequate for rough translations, but completely misses the nuances of the Ancient language. Surely you can see that this could create serious problems in dangerous situations when accuracy is imperative. What I want to create is very sophisticated and will solve that problem. I'm talking about preventing accidents here, Dr. McKay. I'm talking about bringing the database to life—making it useful for everyone—not just for the few people, like me, who can actually read it properly."

He was starting to walk away but she planted herself in front of him, consciously thwarting him, her voice growing louder, though she continued to try to rein in her tone, "I'm certain you will see the value in that once you give me an opportunity to show you. If you could take a moment to come down to my lab, I can quickly show you what we have so far. And if you could give me a small team to work with for a few hours a day, I can start releasing some of the artifacts to your lab for testing and experimentation."

"Yes, well, that would be good, wouldn't it?" He shot her a sarcastic glare. "I wasn't very happy when Weir made me set those aside. I mean, you aren't really a scientist, are you?"

"Excuse me?" She was shocked that he would say such a thing.

"Come on, Dr. Freedman. You studied art, architecture, history, languages, right? You're just a glorified linguist who likes to dig up dusty, old, primitive stuff. Hm? Ancient Egypt is hardly applicable here. You don't have anything of value to contribute." He was gesturing dismissively again.

Oh, he had gone too far. She felt her voice rising, her anger becoming clearly evident, but she felt powerless to back down. She rounded on him. "Dr. McKay—are you saying you get to decide whose doctorate is valid and whose isn't? Because I'd like to be certain you've seen my full list of credentials before you throw the last thirteen years of my life away! I may not have a doctorate in physics, but I have studied the hard sciences and math as well as rigorous curricula in archeology. I've been working with a team of scientists at the SGC for five years, doing just what I'm supposed to be doing here. When I accepted this position, it was with the understanding that I'd be continuing my work. I am one of the foremost authorities on Ancient dialects—the only authority on the Lantean dialect, I might add. I am, in fact, the person who deciphered the secrets of inverted letters in the Ancient language. I do have something of value to contribute here."

She started to flounder, but she had captured his attention, finally, she noticed. He was eyeing her warily. Maybe the only way to deal with fire was fire, she thought, tugging on her uniform jacket. With effort, she brought her voice back down a notch and said, with conviction, "I have travelled from another galaxy to do this work in—in a spirit of cooperation, I might add. I'm trying to be patient, but you're forcing my hand, Dr. McKay. I don't want it to come to this—but, if you won't give me what I need, I'll be compelled to go to Dr. Weir. I'm certain she won't mind permanently assigning some people to my lab, rather than sharing them with you. And I. . . I will demand only the best, most highly qualified personnel, I assure you." She paused for a moment dramatically, then hammered her last sentence home, "Either way, my projects will move forward." She stared him down, realizing after a moment that the room had gone silent, but she kept staring. And then staring some more.

And he glared back. Until finally he looked away, his face reddening, clearly trying to avoid his own temper flare. "Fine," he grit out and started to slam down his laptop, then, clearly thinking better of it, set it down more carefully.

"What?" she asked contemptuously, her eyes narrowed with doubt.

He tossed his right hand in the air manically, indicating the door. "Let's go down to your little lab so you can show me what you want my help with. I'll send over a couple of people after lunch to help you with the devices."

"Now?" she asked, surprised.

"Yes, now," he replied, rolling his eyes.

"Good. I want Dr. Zelenka to come as well," she demanded.

His eyes bulged for a moment, then he bellowed, "Come on, Zelenka! We're going down to the archeology lab for a few minutes."

McKay led the way, charging purposefully down the corridor, his right shoulder down and the fingers of his right hand twitching. Dr. Zelenka came up beside Emily and introduced himself quite pleasantly.

She dropped her anger away completely and greeted Zelenka formally, extending her hand. "Dr. Zelenka—what a pleasure to finally meet you after such a long electronic correspondence. I hope you are well?"

As the door to McKay's lab shut behind them, she could have sworn she faintly heard people cheering.

Acutely aware of McKay's impatience and doubts, she didn't waste any time. She ran down her objectives quickly and showed them what Walters had been working on.

McKay was clearly exasperated. "What you're talking about is incredibly complex, Dr. Freedman."

"I realize that. The Ancient language is incredibly complex. The lack of punctuation and of spaces between words alone make it difficult for most who study it to read, but that isn't so very different from languages like Latin. However, unlike Latin, Ancient has a unique way of combining words to create new meaning. And there's more. My particular expertise lies in the relationships between words with inverted letters, something that we previously had disregarded the importance of. I have discovered that it can greatly change the meaning of a single word or word combination in ways we hadn't understood before. Here. Let me show you."

She grabbed a notebook and deftly marked out three words to show them. "These three words mean, at their most fundamental: fire, safety and danger."

She looked up. Zelenka was nodding agreement and McKay was looking annoyed. She plunged on, "If you combine the first two words like this," she scribbled again, "it means 'fire-proof' more or less. But, now listen carefully, when combined the opposite way," she continued to write, quickly but accurately, "with one small change, just one letter inverted, it essentially means 'caution: fire hazard'—and if that isn't enough for you, you add the third word and it means 'explosion imminent'."

She looked at them pointedly. "I can think of about five more permutations of these three words with letter inversions that I personally have seen, all with different shades of meaning. Context is very important, but surely you can see how quickly a person could go from thinking something is fire-proof to blowing themselves up."

McKay was scowling at the words she had written. Zelenka looked surprised and said, "That could be a problem."

"Obviously. Gentlemen, this is just one example among thousands—the Ancient vocabulary is immense and far exceeds English in its rampant use of synonym—these three words could easily be replaced with dozens of others and mean relatively the same thing. I have notebooks filled with data that I have compiled on various word families and the effects of inverted letters on meaning and tone. We can't just have anyone translating these documents. It means risking lives. This software is the only way I can think of to get us to a safer, more effective means of translation—fast. It would take a team of people with my expertise a lifetime to manually translate the entire database—and we don't have a team. There is no such team in existence. Right now—it's just me."

McKay and Zelenka exchanged furrowed brows. McKay was softening, she could see it. He was seeing reason. He hadn't said anything, but he was clearly thinking very hard.

She sighed, not sure what else she could say that would finally convince him. "Look, we've already lost Atlantis once—nearly lost it several other times. It doesn't seem likely that we'll be here forever. We need to get serious about accurately translating and downloading this database and getting as much of it transferred to Earth as humanly possible."

They stood there a few moments. She searched their faces, but they seemed to be deep in thought and she didn't want to break the spell. Suddenly, McKay pulled up a stool to the computer station, scrunched up his face, and started scrolling through the code Walters had written. Zelenka joined him there and they started babbling back and forth in technical jargon.

"Perhaps we should add a component of AI," Zelenka suggested.

"Yes, yes, of course AI. Not too much or it'll go haywire and find meaning in every letter combination. Just enough to extrapolate from the data she inputs about these inverted letters. Oh, Walker! That just isn't going to work." He was typing fervently now.

She watched them work for a little while, but they had clearly forgotten she was there. So, she pulled up a chair at another work station and started back in on translations, books and papers spread out around her. She was working on operating manuals and schematics for various medical equipment and it was very slow going.

* * *

Rodney tapped out a few more keystrokes, scrolled back through the code he had written over the last half hour, and checked his watch. It was mid-afternoon already. He was surprised so much time had passed—Zelenka had left for lunch hours ago. He was starving. He hadn't expected the project to capture his interest for this long. Freedman's ideas about the translation software were unique and presented a challenging puzzle.

He stood up and frowned. Freedman was perched on a stool on the other side of the lab, absorbed in some kind of paperwork, scribbling, sorting through piles of paper, books and notebooks before scribbling some more. He shouldn't have given her such a hard time. Weir had been right to say that he didn't have adequate time to supervise the research into all of these devices, but he just didn't like the idea of turning them over to someone else. He felt like he'd earned them. Pulling one of them out of this lab and tinkering with it was his favorite rainy day activity.

He sighed. He had browsed through Freedman's file. She did have extensive experience dealing with these kinds of artifacts, co-supervising a lab at the SGC with Jackson—and they wouldn't be here without Jackson, of course. She would be doing the annoying part of the work, he supposed—trying to decode the text and symbols on the devices, trying to find references to them in the database. Maybe he would still get a crack at a few of them, he thought, shrugging. Reading Ancient wasn't one of his strengths, he knew. Frankly, he sucked at it, but he would never, ever, admit that to another living soul.

He approached her warily; she hadn't left for lunch either. She was new and he should probably try to be more friendly. He really didn't want her going to Weir and telling her what an ass he'd been. She'd threatened to do as much and he guessed, considering the big fuss the IOA had made about sending her, maybe she'd been justified. She wouldn't know or care that he was annoyed by an extra project—a rather weighty project at that—on his plate when there were already so many irons in the fire.

She hadn't noticed him standing there. He glanced around uneasily. His first impression of her had been that she was just another mousy sycophant. She'd seemed so hesitant and uneasy that night in the mess; he'd caught her sending him strange, furtive looks. She'd proved that theory wrong, though, he thought, a smirk creeping up on his lips. Apparently she would only take so much before she would push back. Her wild-eyed anger had been, well, pretty hot, actually. She could be pretty interesting to have around.

He came to the conclusion that she wasn't going to look up, so he cleared his throat. She startled precipitously and looked around in confusion for a moment before she noticed him standing there.

"So, what's all this?" he asked rather pleasantly, he thought.

She blinked a couple of times and stood to face him, searching the room like she expected Zelenka to still be there, too. "This is a translation of medical diagnostic equipment operations manuals and their schematics. It's the first thing Dr. Weir wanted me to work on."

He looked at the papers spread out on the bench, puzzled. "But you're working it out longhand? With reference books? On paper? Looks tedious." He tried to keep the disdain out of his voice. He really did.

She raised her eyebrows at him.

"Yes, yes, of course, that's why you need me." He smiled smugly, sticking his hands in his pockets. _Of course, don't they all?_

She pressed her lips together and nodded gravely, looking annoyed.

He rubbed his hands together. "Look, um, I was just about to go to the mess for a late lunch. You hungry?" He wasn't exactly meeting her eyes, but geniality wasn't his strong suit, especially with women he didn't know. Hopefully she would see that this was a peace offering.

As if on cue, Freedman's stomach grumbled audibly. "I think that's a yes," she said, smiling broadly and shaking her head. She seemed to stifle a giggle.

"That was impressive." He smirked. She was really something. "Shall we?"

As they walked down the hall, she asked, "So, Dr. McKay, you haven't said much about the translation software. Can it be done?"

_Who does she think she's talking to? _ "Yes, yes, of course. I'm not sure we can manage absolutely everything you've imagined, but yes, we can come very, very close. It's going to take a lot of time though, to write the code and, well, I really don't envy you—the amount of time required to do the data entry will be staggering, but I think you know that."

She smiled again, brightly. "Well, that's a relief. I was told on Earth that I was aiming too high, that I should settle for something that can actually be done. This is really good news."

He snorted softly. "Who told you that? Dr. Lee?"

"No, I never got a chance to talk to Dr. Lee about it. I had a few scientists with some computer expertise assigned to my lab for some time. One of them was a Dr. Kavanagh. He was the one who told me I could never achieve what I wanted."

He frowned and raised an eyebrow. "Kavanagh? Pony tail? Real jerk?"

She frowned and nodded, looking a bit mystified. "Um, yes."

He shook his head slightly. "No imagination. You would have done better with Lee or Carter."

She shrugged and he could have swore there was a smirk forming on her lips before she said, "They weren't available to me for such a large project. Things are pretty hopping there most of the time. I started learning C++ in my spare time, but it was slow going with all of my other responsibilities. Although my language ability lent itself to easily understanding the basics of computer code, designing the complex, multilayered algorithms needed for this kind of complicated software was far beyond my limited experience. Walters completely reworked everything I had managed so far in just a few hours."

_She was trying to learn C++? In her spare time? Oh, these liberal arts types. The world is just full of unicorns and fairies to them, isn't it? _"Yes, well, we can't all be good at everything," he said, not able to resist a superior lift of his chin.

She seemed to be amused by that, and continued, "No, it's good to have a niche. So, you see the value, now, in what I want to develop?"

If he hadn't been looking, he would have thought she was grinding that comment home, but her expression was simply earnest. He couldn't quite meet her eyes though, as he replied, "Yes, yes, I think it's quite ingenious and will be. . . very. . . valuable to our work here. I'm kind of surprised I didn't think of it myself. But, ah, of course, we'd need someone with your language expertise to complete the work."

"Thank you." She seemed to smile a secretive little smile to herself.

"Mm." He waved her ahead of him to the serving line, unconsciously furrowing his brow.

The mess was virtually empty, since it was mid-afternoon. They set their trays down opposite each other and started to eat. She was back to sneaking furtive looks at him, which was unsettling. He couldn't tell what that was about, exactly.

"So, how many languages do you speak?" he asked. Her file hadn't been specific on that point.

"Well. . . ." She picked at her food thoughtfully. "I don't know the exact number. There are so many I've studied. Many I'm fluent in. Others. . . conversant. Still others I wouldn't really count as I haven't studied them long enough to do much more than translate them with the aid of a reference."

"Wow. I would think you would keep a tally," he said, incredulous.

"Well, maybe someone like you would." She shrugged. But she didn't make it sound like an insult, just a statement.

"Yes, I would." He said with certainty and took a big bite of salad.

They ate silently for a few minutes and then she seemed to decide to jump in and fill the silence. "It started when I was very young. My mother knew some Spanish and she knew that childhood was a good time to learn a language. So when I was about three, I guess, she started teaching me and apparently I loved it. I quickly outgrew her knowledge so she hired a native speaker and I learned to read and write Spanish and English at the same time."

That sounded unusual. His parents had pushed him from a young age, but three? "What does your mother do?"

"She's a professor of plant science." She chewed thoughtfully. "So, by the time I was 5, I was fluent in Spanish and over the next few years my mom hired other native speaking tutors for other romance languages—Italian and French. Then I studied the classics, Latin and Greek. I just sucked them all in like a little sponge, she always says. Let's see, then it was German and Russian—that was by high school. Around that time, I started taking trips. I would go to a different country each summer and enroll in some kind of accelerated, immersion language course. I did Mandarin, then, um. . . ." she paused, like she was trying to remember which language had come next.

"You're kidding!" He was astonished. "You fluently speak all of those languages? Damn. I'm from Canada and I don't even speak French!"

She looked down at her tray and shrugged. "Yes. And now many more. It's like my brain is just wired for it. Maybe because I started so young, what was a facility became a template. I really don't know. It's supposed to be harder for adults than for children, but it's never gotten harder for me. I do know there are others like me. I've met them."

"Really?"

"Oh, yes. A few. Mm. The egg salad is good." She wiped her mouth with her napkin and continued, "At the SGC I learned Goa Uld and Ancient and several others. It's my understanding there are some remnants of Ancient spoken as prayers here in Pegasus. I hope to get a chance to observe that while I'm here."

"Hm." He couldn't help but look at her with newfound appreciation. She suddenly seemed more appealing. She was pretty, he thought, his mouth quirking up slightly on one side, but she didn't seem to know it. She didn't have any artifice. She talked about her vast knowledge of languages like she was talking about the weather—without any trace of self-importance. He would expect someone who had accomplished so much at such a young age to be supercilious and he would have respected that because of the hard work and drive it must have taken. For her to be completely without vanity was. . . a puzzle.

He realized they were staring at each other intently, then she blinked and looked down, saying, "Yes, well, like I said, it's nice to have a niche. You have yours and I have mine. I was also interested in science, so I decided on archaeology as my career before I even got to high school. That way the language ability would be an asset instead of an aberration. I just wasn't interested in working as an interpreter, which was what I was expected to do. I double-majored in anthropology and chemistry as an undergrad and seriously considered biochem for grad school, but decided to continue with anthropology after all. I wasn't even finished with my doctorate when Dr. Jackson recruited me to the SGC. No education on Earth could have adequately prepared me for that." She smiled nervously. "Sorry to go on about myself."

"No, no, that's just, well, really something."

"What about you? How did you come to find yourself here?" she asked, looking curious.

"Well, my dad was a Physics professor." He paused to take another bite.

She seemed to digest this information and rushed to say, "I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?" He was perplexed.

She looked flustered. "Your father, he passed away?"

What was it with women and their _non sequiturs_? He shook his head. "That's not where I was going with this, but yes, he did. Anyway. He, ah, insisted we, my sister and I, would be. . . well rounded—read us the classics as bedtime stories, made us study piano, stuff like that. He encouraged our interest in science from an early age. He actually hoped I would be a medical doctor, but I wasn't cut out for that. But he seemed to be, I don't know, pleased, that both my sister and I were following in his footsteps, you know. I think he hoped we would one day collaborate and solve the mysteries of the universe together." He smiled briefly and took another bite. "So, I completed two doctorates, astrophysics and mechanical engineering. Then I was recruited to Area 51 and did some work at the SGC too. There was a brief, unpleasant stay in Russia, then, Antarctica, and then I ended up here."

"Impressive. Your sister did come here to do some work, recently, didn't she? Did you solve some important mystery of the universe?" She was smiling again. She seemed prone to smiling a lot which was highly unusual for someone with her level of education, expertise and obvious intelligence. It wasn't that she wasn't serious or competent, she just. . . smiled so easily. It was odd, but strangely attractive.

He frowned. "Well, if you know she was here, then you know the answer to that. We thought we had at first, but it was unfortunately at the expense of our counterparts in an alternate universe. It was very disturbing. I'd rather not talk about it. But it was, you know, good to work with my sister."

She shot him an open, frank look. "You're lucky to have had a sibling to share your childhood with. It must be a nice feeling to always know there is someone out there who has your back."

"Mm." He looked at her quizzically and kept eating. What an odd thing to say.

After a long silence, he shifted uncomfortably in his chair and remembered what Carson had mentioned in the staff meeting other day. "So, ah, you're the one who gets sick from gate travel, aren't you? Carson said something about you actually sense the wormhole? What's that about?"

Freedman sighed and finished chewing, eyeing him uncertainly. "I don't really know." She grimaced and looked reluctant. "It's rather embarrassing."

"Really? Why?"

She hesitated briefly. "Well, it was bad enough that they suspended me from gate travel. About four years ago, I was put on desk duty because they decided it was too dangerous to send me off-world. You know things can go south pretty quickly off-world and having a team member disoriented and sick for at least twenty minutes after gating, well, that's not good." She shrugged and picked at her food, looking sort of miserable, he thought.

"Huh. But you still went through the intergalactic bridge?" If she knew she got sick from gate travel, even if it was just some psychosomatic silliness, why would she decide to go through thirty-two of them at a go?

She looked chastened. "Yes. They told me to wait for the Daedalus, but it's probably going to take months to repair and get back here and I was impatient to get started. Minutes rather than months sounded like a good trade-off, for some momentary discomfort. But it ended up being worse than that. I, um, passed out," she admitted. He noted that she looked embarrassed and there even seemed to be some color on her cheeks. "In retrospect, it was a lot of gates. They drugged me up at the midway point though, and. . . the second half was. . . very interesting."

"How so?" he asked, looking over a big bite of salad.

She set her fork down and frowned, eyebrows knit together. She was hesitating again, but finally said, "Up until then, my experience of the wormhole was not the same instantaneous transfer that everyone else feels. I was always left with an impression that quickly faded as I became. . . overcome with dizziness and nausea. I just. . . couldn't maintain the concentration to sort of keep the memory of it fully fleshed out."

"Hm," he said, watching her closely.

Freedman looked at a point in the distance, as if seeing something in her mind's eye. "But the second half of the intergalactic bridge was quite different. They medicated me with God only knows what and I was somehow able to stay conscious on the second leg. It seemed to take a really long time to pass through those gates, though, as you know, it was actually only something like fifteen to seventeen minutes."

He leaned in, listening intently, and she glanced at him, pushing her hair back nervously under his gaze.

"It was such a surprise, really, and nothing I could ever have imagined on my own." She looked incredulous. "It was like. . . zooming through these tunnels. . . that were comprised of undulating blue-green light. First, in the space between galaxies, it was just darkness and straight, just me and the wormhole—no stars, you know? And then. . . I could see the Pegasus galaxy growing larger and larger in the distance and it was really, incredibly beautiful—like the pictures from NASA, but so much more. . . real. . . three-dimensional. . . and enormously vast. It looks like glittery clouds—all those millions of stars. It was amazing, really." She glanced at him again, nervously.

He stopped eating and just watched her, frowning. _She's serious,_ he realized. He wasn't sure what to make of that. Despite her obvious nervousness, though, she was compelling to listen to.

She pressed on her lips with her fingertips for a moment, thinking. "And then at the edge of this galaxy, the wormhole started to. . . arc around the stars. It was mild at first—something like a roller coaster, I suppose. Tolerable. Even. . . exciting. But then it began to feel like. . . the other times I'd gated—spiraling around star after star. I remember feeling like I'd been sucked into a vacuum cleaner, or something. I think the stars. . . they may have been closer together at that point—clusters, maybe? I don't know much about how galaxies are formed. I came very close to passing out again, right before we arrived."

She frowned and furrowed her brow, clearly lost in thought, seemingly forgetting he was even listening. "It was very noisy. I was alone and it was surreal, yet somehow peaceful—until the motion became more violent. But. . . early in the journey, those moments, I. . . well, it felt like I was the only person in the universe and I was given a great gift to see it that way."

She stopped speaking and looked at him searchingly.

Something about her story seemed familiar. He squinted, trying to place the thought that was just. . . there, then snapped his fingers and pointed at her. "Jodie Foster."

"Jodie Foster?" she repeated vacantly.

He was warming up to the idea. He had to be right. "_Contact._ The movie. 1997. You saw it, yes?"

She shook her head and then stopped, tilting it a bit, and said, "Maybe? Yes?"

She seriously needed to hear this, before she repeated this absurd story to someone else. He nodded, gesturing at her with his hand, palm up. "It must be some kind of subconscious transference from the movie images." He sat back smugly with his arms folded, shaking his head. "I bet Beckett never saw that movie. He's not really into sci fi. Of course that doesn't explain your physical symptoms, but it's probably psychosomatic. You might want to have a chat with Heightmeyer over that one."

Freedman closed her eyes for a moment, then abruptly rose. "I need to get back to work. If you'll excuse me?" She gathered her things to go, her face blank and expressionless.

He stood up too, feeling suddenly sheepish, though he wasn't exactly sure why. He found himself babbling at her, "Of course. I've got work to do in my lab for the rest of the day. Radek will be working on the software and, ah, I'm going off-world on a mission tomorrow. I'll be in touch, when I can, to keep you updated on the progress. I'll, ah, let you know when we're ready for you to do your data entry."

"Yes. Thank you," she said quietly, then started to go.

He sat back down, then immediately stood back up again. "Hey, wait. I didn't say anything to offend you, did I?"

She stopped in her tracks but didn't turn.

"I was just thinking aloud. No one really knows what happened out there except for you."

"It's ok, Dr. McKay," she said quietly over her shoulder.

"You can call me Rodney." He felt a little uneasy for some reason.

She nodded and walked off to return her tray.

"Can I call you Emily?" he called after her. But she didn't look back.

Rodney sat back down and idly popped a few grapes in his mouth, mulling over her sudden departure. Freedman was something of an enigma. This story—well, there was no way to quantify it, that was for sure, he thought with derision. Yet. . . she hadn't really wanted to tell it, had she—had gotten quiet and fled when he was disbelieving. It probably wasn't real, but she thought it was, he realized, rolling his eyes. He'd hurt her puny feelings, he guessed. Why did everyone have to be so sensitive? Wasn't skepticism what science was about? What else would anyone expect him to say or think? Except. . . she hadn't been the one to bring it up, had she? He shrugged and frowned.

And what was with that hair? Most of the women around here had rather severe and unimaginative hairstyles, both the scientists and the military women. Freedman's hair seemed to have a life of its own, coiling and springing in every direction around her face. His sister had curly hair but it was nothing like Freedman's, which was just. . . wild. She didn't toss it around coquettishly like some girls he'd known, but it still seemed to find a way to. . . intrude on her comfort or something, and she frequently pushed it back or tucked it behind her ear.

The fact that she stood up to him kind of had him bothered though he didn't like admitting it to himself, since he had recently started seeing Katie again. It had taken a long time for him to get over the embarrassment of their first disastrous date—with Cadman stuck in his head.

They didn't spend a lot of time together, but it was a nice, comfortable thing he had going and he was doing his best not to screw it up. Still, he reluctantly admitted to himself, it would be nice to be with a girl who spoke her mind and was willing to challenge him. But who was he kidding? Freedman was probably already attached. He slurped down the last bite of jello, sighed and got up to dump his tray in the tray return so he could return to work, pushing thoughts of the enigmatic Dr. Freedman to the back of his mind.


	5. Chapter 5 potentia power

Emily walked stiffly back to her lab, mentally chastising herself the whole way. She'd let herself get caught up in them—the absurd notions inspired by the dreams. She'd forgotten that she'd had to drag him, practically kicking and screaming, to her lab—to do the work that he was supposed to be doing, after all. Why? Because his irritation had somehow vanished and he was smiling at her, complimenting her, seemingly genuinely curious about her. Seriously! The man had to be bipolar or something, damn it! Then she'd been mesmerized by his pretty blue eyes and their intense gazes, with her traitorous stomach fluttering every time he pointed them at her, like some lovesick teenager. What was she thinking? He wasn't even willing to acknowledge her presence just hours before and she had stupidly sat there, revealing one of her most intensely private experiences to him. She couldn't believe she had done that when all she knew about him for sure was that he was a jerk.

This just was not going as she imagined it would. Not at all.

When she arrived at her lab, Emily discovered two of McKay's scientists twiddling their thumbs, waiting for her, forcing her to mentally switch gears and shake off her consternation. There was a German woman, a tall, thin blonde with modern, unusually-shaped glasses, Dr. Ada Neumann, who was trained as an engineer. And a short, nerdy-looking, American male scientist, Dr. Mark Graden, who specialized in electronics. They brought several cases of equipment with them. Emily pulled on some gloves and doled them out for them to don and then set a device in front of them.

"This, I believe, is an induction charging station," she told them, gesturing at the grey, disk-like object, fourteen inches in diameter with three raised platforms artfully rising about two inches above the disc itself. "I have seen something somewhat like it on Earth—however there is no mention of it in the database, so it's up to us to verify." She outlined how she believed the device functioned and left them to it after handing them a printed list of her working protocols which included a very long section about safety.

Neumann returned her gaze stoically, but Graden was lit up with enthusiasm. "Do you have any idea of the scope of applications this technology could have? If it works, this could be incredible!" Graden voiced. Neumann patiently waited for direction.

"I assure you, there are already people on Earth researching a similar device with commercial applications in mind. So, for now, our primary purpose is determining if it still works—so it can be used. Once you establish that it's functioning, we'll need to try charging something. I was thinking something small. Do you know of any small Lantean devices that have lost their charge?"

Neumann looked thoughtful. "There is the personal shield Dr. McKay used in the early days of the expedition. I know where it is."

"Good. Let's try that, then." Emily nodded. This was a good start. She turned from them and put on her radio, which she normally left in a drawer because it was too distracting, and contacted Dr. Beckett.

"Dr. Beckett—do you have any small, Lantean medical devices in the infirmary which appear to have a very low battery charge or perhaps are completely dead?"

"Yes, I believe there are a few," he said.

"Well, I believe I may have a device in my lab that could recharge them for you if you would like to bring them up. And if you have a few minutes to spare I have some partially translated medical literature that I would like to share with you, to see if you could shed some light on it. There are a few medical terms I'm unfamiliar with and I don't have anyone else to consult."

"Well, isn't that brilliant? I'd be happy to do that, love. When do you need me?" He sounded cheerful, as usual.

"Any time you're free."

"Ok, well, I could probably be there in a couple of hours."

"Perfect. See you then. Freedman out."

By the time Beckett arrived, the scientists had already determined that the device was still operational and had just charged the personal shield while taking readings. Graden raced off to tell McKay the exciting news. She found it amusing that he had them all so cowed with his irascible behavior that they felt it was necessary to try to score points with him this way. She wondered if it was actually an effective management strategy for him.

"Ah, the shield. Won't Rodney be pleased," Carson said dryly.

Emily smirked and nodded agreement. She had a feeling he would be inordinately pleased and, though it chafed at her, she couldn't wait to see his reaction.

"Well, I have three small devices, just as you asked for." Beckett said and handed them to her on a small medical tray.

"Wonderful. Let's do one at a time and continue to take readings, going slowly and carefully," she said as she handed them over to the scientists. She motioned to the bench where she had her translation work spread out, "Could you look at this with me for a few minutes, Dr. Beckett?"

"Of course, but only if you call me Carson."

"Ok, Carson," Emily smiled. She spent about an hour talking with him about the instruments in the schematics she was trying to translate. It was very helpful. She was able to pin down some of the elusive terminology which would be useful with deciphering other terms. Ancient was like that.

She spread her palm out on the diagram of the final medical device in front of her when, in her peripheral vision, she saw sparks flying across the room. Terror shot through her and leapt up, shouting, "Turn it off!"

She crossed the room quickly to find them looking confused and shamefaced, but no one was hurt. Neumann spoke up, "We charged the first of Dr. Beckett's instruments fine, but the second one. . . did this."

"Let's figure out why. Show me the shield and the two instruments." She examined them carefully, scrutinizing every detail, and kept looking back at the induction charging device to work out the puzzle.

Finally she saw the detail they were missing. "Crap," she swore softly. It was a stupid mistake. "Each of the three platforms has a very subtle design running down the center. That same design is also present on these devices—it's very small and not obvious at all—see here? You charged the shield on the center platform, right? This one you also charged on the center. But this third one should have been charged on the left platform because that is the design element here."

She frowned. "I don't know what the difference in technology may be, but it must be something like the difference between alkaline and nickel metal hydride. It was easy to think that these were simply decorations. We must always remember that there is intention behind everything. The Ancients weren't gods; they were human, like us, and they did everything deliberately. Let's hope we haven't ruined either device. Take some readings and let me know."

Neumann started taking readings. "It's working fine," she said and they resumed their work.

She sank back onto her stool feeling troubled and preoccupied by the mistake and how badly that could have gone wrong.

Carson joined her. "Good catch," he said, smiling warmly.

She frowned. "No, terrible catch. I should have noticed that before. This device has three platforms, while the one on Earth only had one. Someone could have gotten hurt."

"But no one was and they learned a valuable lesson from you about Ancient tech. Don't beat yourself up about it. Now, how can I help you with this? I recognize this instrument."

They discussed the final page a few more moments and Carson commented, "I'm impressed with the amount of work you've done in just a few short days. This kind of verbiage cannot be part of the normal lexicon you learn when you learn a new language, can it?"

"Well, that's the first thing I discovered when I joined the SGC. Every new project presents unique challenges. You have to be very adaptable and keep an open mind."

"That's true for all of us here, isn't it? I ran into Rodney earlier this afternoon and he told me a bit about your history with languages. Incredible. There really are so many amazing people here in Atlantis." He looked back at the scientists on the other side of the room and leaned in, putting his elbow on the bench-top and said softly, "So, Emily? Are you seeing anyone back on Earth?"

She opened her mouth in surprise. "Ah, well, no, not really. Not seriously. Some dating, yes." She felt flustered, confused—the painful, short-lived, quasi-relationship she had just broken off before leaving Earth came immediately to mind. She wondered why he would ask her such a personal question. "My life has been really, really busy and I honestly haven't made a lot of time for that."

Now Carson looked confused, "Forgive me for being so forward, but you must be early thirties and a lovely, intelligent woman. No plan to have a family then?"

_A family?_ Her mind involuntarily went back to the persistent dreams she'd had for weeks—an image flashing into her mind unbidden. A familiar, yet foreign home. Sitting on a sofa with three small children snuggled against her. The youngest, barely able to walk or speak simple words, yet looking frightened with big blue eyes focused on her face, one finger stuck in his drooling mouth, the other hand entangled in his hair, rubbing the curls together for comfort, the curls so like her own.

The oldest, old enough to have an inkling of what might be happening, was clutching at her fearfully. She struggled not to sob in front of them, but was unable to stop the tears streaming down her face. The middle child, completely clueless, was cheerfully asking, "What's wrong, Mommy?" What could she tell them that they could understand? How could she keep his memory alive for them? How was she going to do this alone?

She blinked, shoving the memory aside forcefully—a sort of mental gymnastic she was becoming very adept at—and struggled to focus on Carson and what he was asking her. _Damn it, what is he getting at? _Was he coming on to her? Surely not. She wasn't sure, but she didn't think this is how these things usually went. Her sense of ease evaporated and she stammered, "Well, I don't really know. I guess it seems like there is still plenty of time. . . . Um." She rifled through some papers on the bench. This was so uncomfortable.

"Well, I was wondering if you—"

McKay burst into the room, puffed up and euphoric. "Did I just hear right? You recharged the personal shield?"

Neumann and Graden rose in unison, eager to show him how the induction charger worked and, as Emily joined them, she noted that they did give her the credit for showing them what it was and how to use it.

He turned to her, "Emily, I could kiss you!" He waved his hands in the air on either side of her face but didn't follow through with his threat. "I'm so going to keep this in my pocket every time I go off-world from now on. I had no idea there was a charger in here. How did you find it?"

She smiled at his reaction. "Slow down, Dr. McKay, I'm certain we're going to discover many useful devices over the next weeks and months. I'd seen a similar charger before, so I was confident I knew its function. I'm glad you're happy, but I think we'll leave it up to Dr. Weir as to how this device is used now. I'll be briefing her later today."

It was clear this was not what he expected her to say. "Oh, come on! It's imprinted on me!" How quickly his exhilaration could turn to anger, she thought with chagrin. He was definitely mercurial.

She felt like taking a step back from him, but resisted the urge and took a step forward instead. "I took a peek at the database, and I don't believe that to be entirely true. We need to run some more experiments on it to be sure. Here." She gently took the shield from McKay's grasp and turned it over in her hand. She rubbed her thumb over the symbol on the back for a few seconds and then placed it firmly onto the clothing on her chest. It glowed green. She shot McKay a pointed look.

He looked incredulous for a moment, then wailed in outrage, "Oh, that's just great! She giveth salvation and then she taketh away!" He pointed at her, "You! You have an unfair advantage because you have the natural gene!" He stormed out of the lab.

"Dr. McKay! Wait—" But he was already gone. She looked back at Carson in disbelief for a moment and then giggled. Carson smirked. Then she started to laugh and then to roar with laughter. It was damn unprofessional, but she couldn't help it. She'd always had a problem with inappropriate laughter. Her laugh was infectious, though, and pretty soon they were all laughing, though the scientists looked reluctant—as though they feared McKay might come back and catch them at it, which made her laugh all the harder.

Once she calmed down, she apologized for her behavior and hoped it wouldn't get back to McKay. Carson excused himself to see patients, but never finished his thought, which confused her even more.

If he asked her out, would she accept? This future vision she had of McKay was like a plague. She couldn't be sure it was real and even if it was, it was dawning on her that by altering the timeline she may have already doomed it from ever happening, rather than hastening it like she'd originally hoped. Maybe he was supposed to mellow with age and they would get along better twenty-five years or so in the future? How could she even be having such preposterous thoughts? He was a complete ass—that wasn't going to change. Still, she thought ruefully, something about him was compelling. She had really enjoyed watching his reaction to the shield and induction device—even when he'd gotten angry.

She realized that even if she'd never had the experience with the alien device on Earth, she still might have come to Atlantis at some point. She'd wanted to go all along, after all. It'd been the fear holding her back. But would she have developed an interest in McKay by this point without the influence of the device? That seemed damned unlikely. Dr. Beckett, on the other hand, was sweet and attentive, although a teeny bit creepy, especially when he mentioned his mother. That was probably just nerves though. Who knew nerves better than her, after all? And that was actually a key point—he did not make her nervous. A couple of dates couldn't hurt, if that was what he was going to ask, she supposed.

Beckett was right about one thing. She wasn't getting any younger. She had concentrated on her education and career for so long, that she'd never really allowed herself the pleasure of personal relationships, romantic or otherwise. She knew that she craved that or she wouldn't have let the device lead her here. It was all such a jumble. Thinking about it gave her a headache. She hoped it would resolve in some way soon. But for now, work would be the best thing to distract her from it all.

* * *

McKay stalked back to his lab, filled with righteous anger. That woman was infuriating. The smile dancing on her lips when they were showing him the charger was stuck in his head. He seemed to amuse her, he thought, which clearly fueled his insecurities. He'd better make sure she never figured that out. She could be a real thorn in his side, if she did.

How had she done that so fast? She was clearly showing off for Weir's benefit—to rub in his face that he hadn't fawned all over her the second she arrived. Yes, yes, the IOA made sure he understood that's exactly what they expected him to do in their many emailed memos. He grit his teeth and glared at anyone who dared look up at him. He had briefly looked at that damn device over a year ago and hadn't been able to determine its function. The fact that she had it up and running, days after her arrival, was ridiculous. The worst part was—she clearly had no idea how it worked! She'd just made a lucky guess because she'd seen something similar on Earth. He cursed under his breath.

And why did she have to be so damn hot? Both Carson and Radek had to prattle on about her every time he saw them—and there Carson had been, making eyes at her when Rodney had walked into the lab. If Carson started seeing her, there was a good chance he'd be forced to spend a lot of his free time with her as well, damn it. It was going to be all kinds of uncomfortable all over again, just like when Carson was seeing Cadman.


	6. Chapter 6 amicus friend

Emily worried there might be repercussions from the confrontation over the shield, but a week passed and Neumann and Graden became daily fixtures in her lab, even bringing in experts from other departments when necessary. She didn't see McKay that week, except in passing; he seemed always to be on a mission. She could understand his frustration. She'd want to keep the damn shield for herself too, if their situations were reversed, but she'd felt a duty toward the greater good—the shield was valuable, could save lives, and Weir needed the truth, even if that meant pissing off her immediate supervisor. But then, why did she feel a little guilty about it? Like she wanted to apologize? Maybe she could have handled it better. Whatever was going on in McKay's head, she was just glad he wasn't petty enough to put her work on hold.

She overheard Graden commenting to Neumann that he was enjoying the break from McKay, which Emily found amusing. For now, she was feeding them only the devices she knew were reasonably safe and watching their work habits carefully. She wanted to be completely confident that they would follow her safety protocols when it came time to open the cabinets and study the more dangerous devices.

Radek stopped by frequently, updating her on their progress with the software. Though she didn't understand everything he said, it was very kind of him to do. They began to chat in Czech, sometimes eating meals together.

One night she was working late on translations after everyone else had left for the day. She was absorbed in deciphering a puzzling passage and didn't hear someone come in. So when Rodney cleared his throat from across the room, waving a tissue at her, she nearly jumped out of her skin.

"Oh, sorry! Sorry, sorry." He put out his hands as if to reduce her anxiety.

"Oh, no, I'm sorry." She stood and smiled a greeting. "I get focused and people sneak up on me all the time."

"I've had a terrible day," he said quietly. "Maybe I should just come back tomorrow." He pinched the bridge of his nose and turned tiredly, as if he might go.

"No! I mean, wait—I'd be glad to listen." She hastily pulled out a stool for him and grabbed something behind her, laying it out on the bench as a small, hopefully appealing, gesture of good will. "I have a turkey sandwich and a bag of chips I'd be glad to share with you."

She smiled at him winningly, hoping the social niceties would compel him to stay. He seemed different. She was curious to see if this was a more vulnerable side of him and she had a feeling he wouldn't pass up food, based on some comments she'd overheard. Her heart was thumping in her chest as she watched indecision play over his features. He seemed to be considering her offer. She decided she'd better up the stakes. She shot him a dubious look, demanding, "You can't leave until you tell me why you're waving around a tissue."

He looked at his hand like he'd forgotten the tissue was there. "Oh, this. White flag. Universal symbol of peace." He shrugged and rolled his eyes. He looked really tired. "I could really eat. I haven't eaten much today." He approached warily and slumped onto the proffered stool. He eyed her, then looked down, and focused on the sandwich. "Look, I'm sorry about the other day. I'm afraid I haven't been very nice to you since you got here."

She was shocked. That wasn't what she expected from him. She searched his expression and he seemed reluctantly sincere. She felt her stomach flutter and grit her teeth—she wasn't going to go all doe-eyed again. She also wasn't willing to let him off the hook entirely.

She sank back onto her own stool, saying quietly, "Well, I'm not going to say it's ok, but I do understand. This is a stressful place to be and you, well, I'm well aware that you carry a heavy burden."

Their eyes met and he looked surprised.

She let herself shoot him a sympathetic glance. "Dr. McKay, I know you've been shot, kidnapped, drugged, tortured—and that's only what's been in the mission reports. I honestly don't know how you do it. Reading those reports before I came. . . was terrifying. I'm still not sure how I talked myself into coming here." She shuddered a bit and hugged herself.

He seemed touched, shocked. His intense eyes were roving over her face and he asked softly, "Well, why did you?"

She felt a spurt of panic. Looking at his sincere and quizzical expression, she felt the urge to just tell him the truth now and get it over with. But just as quickly, she discarded the idea. If she told him, it would sound crazy—and clearly he already thought that was true—no need to add more fuel to that fire. She shook herself a little, realizing she had to reply. "Good question. It's a long story. Maybe I'll tell you over a beer someday."

He straightened up out of his slouch, his features sharpening. "Did someone threaten you?"

_Where had that come from?_ "What? No. Why would you say that?"

He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. "Well, you just looked really. . . upset, just now. Look, we know there are all kinds of political machinations going on on Earth—the IOA, the NID, the Trust—all kinds of despicable people who are probably just salivating to get their hands on the database. Listen, if someone has threatened you, if someone is trying to use you—you have to tell Dr. Weir. We can protect you." He looked so fierce, so. . . protective and her heart thumped in response to his expression.

She felt a small portion of her internal defenses melting under his riveting gaze and struggled to drag her eyes away, to regain her composure. "No, it was nothing like that. Yes, there was pressure. The IOA has been trying to get me here since the original expedition. After you reclaimed the city from the Asurans, they did step up their negotiations, but no one threatened me. More or less, I just finally gave in to an exorbitant pay raise." She looked around the room and drew a breath to steady herself. "Which is completely meaningless here, of course." She rolled her eyes and looked at him again, cautiously.

He looked skeptical and was eyeing her closely. She had to change the subject before she spilled the truth. She felt off her guard and way too gabby. He seemed to disarm her, or maybe that was the device. She needed to return to talking about him—that would divert him, she felt sure.

"Anyway, as I was saying, this is a stressful place. I know that every time there's a crisis they turn to you to solve everything. I guess I'm just saying that I understand how you could be a little grumpy, ok?" She shrugged, not sure what his expression meant. "And, well, I personally haven't exactly kept my temper in check either." She stuck out her hand and said, "Truce?"

He looked surprised, but took her hand and shook. "Truce." Then he pulled something out of his pocket and placed it on the bench. It was the personal shield.

"Dr. McKay!" She was flabbergasted and started to rise.

He was unmoved. "No. It's not what you think." He started to unwrap the sandwich, speaking with an infuriating, quiet confidence, "It's a second one. I got it today, off-world."

She sank back down. "Oh. Where did you find it?"

"Have you heard of Lucius Lavin? He's the guy who used an herb that made everyone like him," he said and took a bite of the sandwich.

"Oh, him! Yes, that was really something." She examined the shield closely, its weight heavy in her hand. It seemed identical to the other one.

"Well, we ran into him today," he said, talking around the food before swallowing. "We heard reports of a guy who was some kind of superhero and went to check it out. Turns out, it was just Lucius with this shield. But that was really the least of our problems. A rogue Genii named Kolya showed up. Really, really, scary guy, I don't mind telling you."

She nodded slowly, remembering. "Yes, I read about him. I wouldn't want to run into him in a dark alley."

"Not much chance of that now—he's dead," he said dryly. "But I spent most of the day in a prison cell thanks to him, and was very nearly murdered, I might add." He took another huge bite of the sandwich. "Got anything to wash this down?"

Her eyes went wide and she shook her head with disbelief. "You weren't kidding when you said you had a terrible day. I hate going off-world." She looked around and then had a thought. She opened a drawer and pulled out her last can of diet coke and handed it to him. "Will this do?"

"You have soda?" He looked at her with awe.

She smiled at his expression. "Last one. Enjoy. I'm only sorry it's warm." She propped her elbows on the bench and rested her chin on her hands, still smiling. "I was saving it for a rainy day. I only had room for one small case when I came through. You deserve a little luxury after such a terrible day."

"Wow. That's really. . . generous of you. Thank you." He seemed to be inspecting her curiously.

"So this Lucius fellow had another one of these." She picked up the shield again and tried to initialize it. She frowned and looked at him. "But it's dead, too."

"Yeah. He drained it trying to impress the locals. Luckily it had just enough juice to shield Sheppard while the Genii emptied their guns on him before it failed. That's thanks to you, actually. I told Sheppard how you transferred the imprint the other day. Hence, the white flag. If you hadn't done that, we might not have made it back." He gave her a meaningful look. "Thanks."

"Oh, well. . . you're welcome, I guess. Based on the reports I've read, though, I'm sure you would have found a way. So, does this one work the same way as the other one? It seems to be identical." She rose and located the other shield, examining them both side by side, looking for any minute differences, as she retook her seat.

He looked thoughtful. "Hm. Not really, actually. He was eating and drinking with it on. Carson was able to take blood from him while he was wearing it."

"But he was relaxed, calm, at those times?" she asked, still comparing the shields.

"Well. . . yes." He furrowed his brow and eyed her quizzically.

She smiled at him gently. "That's why he was able to eat—why Dr. Beckett could draw blood. The database entry about the shield states that the shield has many levels of protection that rise and fall with the wearer's level of anxiety or sense of impending danger."

He seemed nonplussed. His eyes were roving back and forth as he considered her words. "Oh. Well. . . I. . . . Hm."

"Dr. McKay—you received the gene therapy and initialized the shield on what—the second or third day you were here? You had just arrived in another galaxy, had just discovered the Wraith. When you tried to eat or drink, were you certain you would be able to, or were you terrified that it might not let you? All these factors would have played a role in how the device worked. You couldn't have known that. I realize that, at the time, there were attempts to translate the entry about it. . . but there was a lot going on. The entry is long, complicated. I'm certain that everyone's grasp on the language has improved immensely since then."

"Huh." He nodded once and glanced around, embarrassed. He looked down at the food in front of him.

Something made her want to obviate his embarrassment. "I'm sure I would have reacted in much the same way, in that situation. But you were. . . incredibly brave when you stepped into the alien entity and threw the naquadah generator through the Stargate. I'm sorry, you know. I feel guilty. I should've come with the original expedition. It would've made everything so much easier for everyone. I really wanted to. I. . . just. . . couldn't."

He shrugged, looking uncomfortable and opened the bag of chips. He held it out to her, offering her some.

She shook her head and took a deep breath, nervously trying to think of a new topic of conversation that might keep him there a little longer. She sensed he would flee any minute. "You know, when I read the report of your first encounter with Lucius, I was completely fascinated by the description of that herb. Setting aside the um, despicable nature of the exploitation of the women he was. . . ah, well, you know—it sounded incredible. I remember thinking it would be amazing if I could use something like it myself," she said, thinking out loud.

"Yeah, you and me both!" he agreed, but then his expression changed to one of mystification. "Wait, you? You don't have any trouble with people. You're charming everybody's pants off!"

"What? Hardly." She furrowed her brow and shook her head.

He huffed with exasperation. "Oh, come on. Everybody in my lab is fighting over who gets to come over here and work with you. It's Dr. Freedman says this and Dr. Freedman says that. Radek's always looking for reasons to come down here. And Carson—Carson talks about you all the time!" He rolled his eyes like that annoyed him.

She frowned. He was reading into something that wasn't there. "Those are just working relationships. They aren't actually meaningful to people who. . . have real friendships—friendships outside of work." She sighed. "Your team may like working with me, but they aren't asking me to do things with them outside of the lab. I thought. . . Carson might, but I haven't seen him for days. Seriously—I have terrible social skills. I'm. . . stunted, or something." _Crap. Now what am I doing?_

He looked taken aback. "I don't think so. I mean, if anyone's stunted it's me. At least you're. . . nice. You're generous." He held up the soda can, with a half smile. "You haven't been here long—give people a chance to get to know you."

"I worked at the SGC for over five years and didn't really make many connections with others." She smiled crookedly. "I don't know. It's stupid, really. For most of my adolescence I was so wrapped up in my own little world. I didn't care about fitting in. All I wanted was to learn languages."

She nervously glanced at him. He was listening intently.

"I was a confident child—an arrogant teenager—which served me well in the field of language acquisition. Americans are treated with such scorn in that field, but I had some natural ability that set me apart. My world turned upside down, though, when I went to college. Suddenly, I realized that. . . I had been working so hard at the language game that I hadn't ever picked up the social skills I needed to fit in and thrive in the college environment. College was so much harder than I expected. It didn't come as easily as languages. Suddenly I wasn't so sure of myself. It was. . . a blow. My competency with language was meaningless there. I tried to. . . catch up, but. . . . Crap. Maybe I'm just supposed to be a hermit. I do love my work, so that's something."

Rodney wore a sympathetic frown, chewing thoughtfully.

"Other people," she floundered, focused on fiddling with the wire of an unbent paper clip, "they seem to have learned something magical about interacting with others that I somehow missed. I either don't know what to say or I say too much. I can't seem to keep myself from speaking if there is a lull in conversation, so I vacillate between being the quiet one everyone overlooks to being the boring one they can't get away from fast enough." Why was she outlining what a pathetic idiot she was? Why not tell him about her positive attributes? What were those again?

"Mm." He nodded like he understood.

She found herself continuing, "I don't know what it is. It just seems like my brain is wired differently from everyone else. If there was a drug like that for people like me?" She sighed and then chuckled, remembering. "My grad school friends used to joke that I was a female version of Cliff Claven." At his questioning look she answered, "You know—Cheers? The postal worker who knew everything about everything? No one liked him."

McKay snorted and surveyed her appreciatively, shaking his head and smiling, "You're no Cliff Claven." He gestured at her vaguely, "You're. . . just. . . not."

Was that an indication that he thought she was attractive? She searched his face but he was already refocused on the food. She blurted out, "Why don't guys like smart girls?"

He looked up, having just taken a big bite of sandwich and looked alarmed, so she didn't bother waiting for a reply. Instead she rushed to fill the awkwardness with something, anything—it didn't matter what.

"I mean, I. . . the whole dating scene is just fraught with all these pitfalls—it's completely bewildering. I'm just clueless, I guess. I never learned how to flirt. I don't know. I guess I was never willing to pretend to be something else in order to achieve something that's probably not going to be worth hanging onto anyway. My grad school friends found me so amusing. They would set me up, take me to bars, and watch me. . .well, sweat. The worst was when guys would expect me to perform, like I was some kind of sideshow freak." She looked down and shut her eyes. This wasn't going well. After a moment she looked up.

He looked puzzled.

"Hey, say this in Chinese, say that in Russian. Dude, that's sooo cool." She rolled her eyes.

"Ah," he tilted his head and nodded, still chewing. "I used to do math tricks, but that didn't get me any dates," he said, smiling sheepishly.

She hesitated to say anything else because she was sure she was sounding like a blathering idiot, but thought she might be able to bail herself out a little by saying, "I assure you—that didn't work for me either. My whole life up until now has revolved around what I can do, not who I am. I think I just need to take the time to figure out who that is. I guess there must be lots of people here with similar experiences. . . ." She trailed off and glanced at him, embarrassed. She'd revealed too much.

He looked at her intently and put down the remains of the sandwich. "I know what you mean." He seemed to be searching for something to say and finally offered, "We could. . . agree to be friends. You can never have too many of those, right?"

She nodded, forced a semblance of a smile and shook herself a little. She felt idiotic, like she'd just been fishing for something to happen between them—as if she would even have a clue how to go about that! "Look, you've had a rough day, I shouldn't be putting this on you. It's probably just my imagination. I should try harder." The paperclip broke in her hand and she winced as the sharp end stabbed a finger. "But what do people do here for entertainment? Where do they hang out?"

He looked thoughtful, as if he wasn't actually sure himself. "Well, Katie and I sometimes go to the movie nights they have once a week and we hang out in the mess hall a lot. Some people go to the gym to spar and work out. I don't do that, though, you know—I stay mentally fit." He grinned, playfully pointing at his temple.

She felt a little queasy. "Katie?"

"Katie Brown. Red hair? My girlfriend. She's a botanist." He took a big swig of the soda.

"Oh. I haven't met her." Her stomach churned. There was a sick, metallic taste in the back of her throat. She felt like hiding. Escaping. Curling up in the fetal position somewhere. She was so incredibly stupid. How could she have done this to herself? She should hate him, hate the device for bringing her here. Why did she suddenly feel despair? It didn't make any sense.

He held the chip bag up and emptied the crumbs into his open mouth. "I really should go see her and tell her I'm still alive. She always worries when I go off-world. I thought I should just stop by and give you the shield. I know you'll want to charge it up with the induction device." He smiled, looking for all the world like an adorable little boy.

_Dammit! _Why hadn't she considered the possibility that he could already be in a relationship?

"I didn't bother telling Lucius we could do that, so he let me have it. I discovered today, though, that it does have one drawback." He stood up and dusted himself off, then sucked down the last of the soda. "Kolya was smart enough to realize that the shield can't keep you from suffocating and he used that on Lucius to get to us. So, it's not entirely invulnerable."

"Oh. I never would have thought of that," she said absently.

"I think it would take a special kind of evil to think of that." He stood there with his hands in his pockets, nodding and looking a little uncomfortable. "So, ah, the team's been keeping me up to date on the work you're doing here. Sounds good. And, ah, we're still plugging away on your software, of course. Thanks for the food—and the soda. I feel a lot better. I'll, ah, see you later." He lifted his hand in a half-wave, his mouth turned up on one side, and left.


	7. Chapter 7 fatuus fool

She stared after him, stunned. Hot, fat tears started running down her cheeks and she didn't move, just let them fall where they would. She knew that he was brilliant, arrogant, brave—hell, she'd known that before she even left Earth because he had such a reputation—but now she also knew that he could be kind, protective, self-effacing. He had shown her a less guarded aspect of himself. She would wager that much of his bravado was a front because he'd spent his life focused on his dreams instead of acquiring the social skills that most people use to move through the world, not unlike herself. She sensed that there was a lot more to him than he normally showed other people and she. . . if she was painfully honest. . . desperately wanted to see that.

The alien device showed her a possible future with him—showed her again and again the intense feelings they might one day share. No relationship she'd been in had ever felt like that. She had no idea that being with someone could be. . . that good.

She pressed her fingertips to her lips and leaned forward, hating the thoughts echoing in her rebellious, discordant brain. The more time she spent with Rodney McKay, the more she could feel intense feelings developing. She knew she had to fight it. It was just a silly, schoolgirl crush. There was nothing there! He sounded like he was happy in his relationship with this woman named Katie. None of it was real.

She was a fool for not considering that he might already be attached and even more of a fool for allowing herself to believe, even for a moment, that the things the device showed her could possibly be real. She had fled Earth to avoid living out the impending sadness the alien device had revealed, thinking that there might be happiness waiting for her—but far in the future—too far to wait for. She'd acted impulsively for the first time in her life and that had probably ruined everything. She cursed the device for its interference. If she'd been able to fight its effects, she wouldn't even be here now. She would still be on Earth, probably curled up in bed next to a man that had seemed to really care for her. The damn thing had made her lose. . . twice.

She'd only recently felt competent enough to enter into a relationship with someone she knew from the SGC. At the time, she thought she might actually get to be really happy for the first time since childhood. But the relationship hadn't even gotten off the ground when the damn device interfered, making her doubt everything she thought she knew and scaring her into turning him away. Then the treacherous thing put the idea in her head to come here, to this dangerous place. To him, where it promised happiness. But it lied.

She felt devastated. But there was nowhere to turn, no one to tell, no way to ease the pain and anger. She was alone in another galaxy and couldn't even pick up the phone to call her mother, for goodness sake—and even if she could, what could she possibly say? It sounded like raving madness.

"Hello, Emily! How are you?" Carson was cheerfully striding into the room through the open door. "Oh, dear, what's wrong, love?"

She started at the sudden interruption and stood, turning away from him while grabbing the tissue that Rodney had left on the bench. "Oh, it's nothing," she managed to get out.

"I just saw Rodney in the hall. Did he say something to upset you?"

She wiped her eyes with trembling fingers and went to the sink in the corner of the room to run some cold water on her hands, splashing some on her face. She dabbed a paper towel on her face and glanced at Carson sideways, "No, of course not. I'm afraid I was feeling sorry for myself. Homesick for Earth." That was at least partly true. "I just gave Rodney my last diet coke!" she said and laughed out loud in an odd, strained way.

"My goodness, you must really like your carbonated beverages!"

She took a deep breath, determined to stay in the moment, and smiled a trembling smile. "I do. But you know, that wasn't really it. I'm still adjusting, still overwhelmed. I'm ok, really. It was just bad timing for you. Sorry you had to see that".

"So, I notice you aren't wearing your radio," Carson said, peering into her face cautiously.

She cleared her throat, grateful he was changing the subject. "No. I don't like to wear it. Too distracting when I'm trying to work. Someone's always looking for someone so I just tune it out and that sort of defeats the purpose of wearing it. So, I just don't." She froze and her eyes widened. "Wait, it's not mandatory, is it?"

He shrugged. "Well, I don't know about that, but it does make it difficult to talk to someone when they're on the other side of the city." He raised his eyebrows and looked at her pointedly.

"I suppose it would."

"Well, I've been very busy the last few days and I've been trying to get ahold of you—unsuccessfully. So, finally, I thought I'd better make an appearance. You were talking about local foods and cooking and asking Teyla about her culture, so when I was recently invited to attend a feast on New Athos by some of my patients—I thought you might like to come along and sample the local fare? It's tomorrow night."

So that was what he had been going to ask her last week. She felt relieved. It was just the friendly kind of gesture she needed to hear right now. She smiled her appreciation. "Really? I would love that! Thank you, Carson. That's just what I need—something different to do. Some fresh air and new cuisine to try would do me good."

He smiled. "Good. You don't check your email much either, I don't suppose?"

She shrugged. "Guilty. I can't imagine that I have any. I don't know anyone here."

He shook his head. "Well, that just isn't true. I've sent you some, as a matter of fact, and there are emails sent to everyone about activities going on around the city. You'll also be getting emails from your account on Earth from the daily data bursts—they'll be forwarded to your account here."

She blinked with surprise. "Really? I. . . that makes sense, of course. I don't know why I didn't know that."

"It was probably in an email," he said solemnly.

"Probably." She burst out laughing and put a hand to her head. "I'm such an idiot. Sitting here, feeling so. . . when there are probably fifty emails from people back home, just waiting for me to read."

"You know, you have a really lovely laugh. Very uninhibited."

"Thanks." She looked down at the paper towel she was twisting and knotting in her hand. "It's not always my friend. Well, you saw last week. Very unprofessional. Not a good thing at a funeral either, I can tell you."

He shook his head, smiling. "No, I imagine that would be a problem. Well, I was on my way to the mess hall to meet some of the others for a midnight snack. Want to come along?"

She frowned at him, not understanding. "Isn't it closed at this hour?"

"Oh, aye, but they leave out snacks and coffee for the wee night owls among us."

She smiled broadly. "Then, yes! I'm starving—and Rodney ate my sandwich!"

Carson looked baffled. "You're on a first name basis and you're giving him your food and beverages—then am I to take it you two are getting on a mite better now?" He started heading for the door.

She followed him, thinking back bitterly over the revealing conversation she'd had with Rodney just moments before. "Yes. Long story. He apologized for his behavior the other day, you know. He said I may have saved the lives of his team today."

He made a face like he was impressed. "Did he now? Well then, you're among a blessed few to get an apology from Rodney McKay." He smiled. "And, by the way, I was there today. I assume Rodney was talking about transferring the personal shield? Thank you for that."

She glanced at him with surprise. "You go off-world with Rodney's team?"

"Oh, aye, from time to time. It's not my favorite thing to do. I'd rather be seeing patients."

When the mess came into view, she stopped in her tracks, thoughts racing, as she noted McKay and his team were the only occupants. Of course, these were Beckett's friends. Who else would she expect?

Carson turned and said, "Is there something wrong, Emily?"

She gazed at the group in the mess, suddenly feeling cornered and insecure. "Carson, I'll be honest. I'd like to go to New Athos, but I'm nervous about gating there." She looked away, quietly admitting, "I don't want to get sick in front of other people again." _Especially not those people._

"Oh?"

She hesitated. "I'm just making friends here. This is something that is so humiliating and I just. . . I can't control it. I don't want to. . . be the subject of the latest running jokes again." She looked at him, pleading, "Isn't there anything else I could try that might prevent it from happening?"

He looked thoughtful and gently steered her off in another direction, toward the infirmary. "Well, what aspect of gate travel do you think is the problem? Is it anxiety?"

She trudged along beside him, considering her response. "I tried anxiety medications. They didn't change anything."

"Well, I've studied your chart, run my own tests, and I'm afraid I'm none the wiser. Do you have any theories? I'm sorry to be so blunt, Emily, but the symptoms are very non-specific. It would be hard for me to venture a guess at what is causing them." He frowned and looked at her frankly.

No one had ever asked her what she thought it was before. They'd just made a lot of assumptions. She'd always thought the two things must be related, but had never mentioned it before, because of the way things had played out. She swallowed hard and asked, "Could it be the. . . motion?"

He furrowed his brow. "I don't understand. You walk into one event horizon and immediately out through another one."

"You do—but I don't. I feel it. I sense the movement through space, somehow. It's brief, of course, but I know it's there. I try to brace myself for it, but it's so intense. I can't seem to manage. . . ." She trailed off, watching him for signs of disbelief.

He looked thoughtful. "Yes, I remember you said that. Surely it couldn't be as simple as motion sickness." He gave her an odd look. "You know, the symptoms do fit for a pretty extreme case. Have they ever given you simple dramamine?"

"No. Pain medicine, anti-nausea. They even tried beta-blockers and anti-psychotics," she said grimly.

He frowned. "Yes, I saw that in your file. Do you ever get travel sickness otherwise?"

"Yes. Frequently—especially if I try to read a book or something while in a car or on a plane. Usually I just close my eyes and try to nap so it doesn't happen."

"I wonder why they never tried dramamine?" he mused.

"No one ever believed me when I said I could sense the wormhole! The first time I mentioned it—they sent me for a psych consult and made me go to therapy. They thought I was imagining it. . . or worse. After a while, I figured I'd better shut up about it or I might lose my job. What happens to you if you're fired from a super-secret job in a hidden underground bunker because they think you're crazy? You're the only person that ever. . . ." She trailed off and angrily dashed away a tear that drooped from an eyelash.

They had just arrived in the infirmary. Carson went over to a medicine cabinet, unlocked it, and took out a single pill in a blister pack. "I believe you," he said and put it in her hand. "This is a drug called Meclozine. Take it one hour before travel. It's a bit more refined than dramamine and won't make you so sleepy. I'll ask Dr. Weir for permission to go early, so no one but myself will witness it, should this not work and you still become ill."

He squeezed her hand gently. "The reason people get motion sickness is the input from the eyes to the brain does not match the input from the vestibular system of the inner ear that senses motion. The brain, in its confusion, assumes that it's hallucinating and causes the individual to vomit in order to clear the body of toxins that it assumes are there. Quite ingenious, actually, but not a good thing for modern humans, I'm afraid. What you're experiencing could be related to this phenomenon."

"You really believe me?" She clutched the pill in her hand like a lifeline.

"Of course I do. Don't be so surprised. Didn't you say yourself, just the other day, that we need to keep an open mind? This galaxy has shown me—there are too many things in the universe that are beyond our understanding to assume we know anything for sure."

* * *

They arrived in the mess to find Sheppard, Ronon, Teyla, Rodney and. . . Katie Brown, sitting around a table. She felt conflicted as she pulled up a chair alongside Carson to join them, setting a sandwich and an orange on the table in front of her. On one hand, it was painful to see Rodney and Katie together because of all of the unwelcome feelings swirling around inside her, but on the other—she hoped it would give her confused brain the reality check she really needed to move past this experience and to try to make the most of her life in Pegasus.

Being here in Atlantis could change her life in many other ways. She needed to quit thinking about romantic involvement and focus on her work. It had always gotten her through tough times before. She had never been good at relationships and probably never would be. Maybe it was time to just come to terms with that. She was starting to foster some friendships, at least. Carson. And Radek. That should be enough. It would have to be.

"Well, Rodney," Carson said, "I'm a little surprised to find you here with a big plate of food after I discovered this young lady starving in her lab, having given you her only sandwich and her very last diet coke!"

Katie admonished Rodney while he sputtered a bit. Emily tried not to look.

"You had diet coke?" Sheppard asked, frowning. "Wish I'd known that. I would've been your new best friend whether you liked me or not."

"Diet coke?" Teyla asked.

"I told you about soda—fizzy drink that comes in a can. Diet isn't really as good—it isn't made with real sugar. But it's better than nothing," Sheppard explained with a lazy shrug.

"When the rest of my things arrive, eventually, I should have some more. I'll save you one, Teyla," Emily said, forcing herself to smile.

"I must admit I am curious," Teyla said.

"Teyla, I hope it's alright that I asked Emily to join us for the feast tomorrow night?" Carson asked.

"Of course! I meant to ask you myself, Emily, but I so seldom see you. Of course you are all invited. My people love to have visitors and there will be more than enough food to share."

Colonel Sheppard turned to Emily and said, "You know, Dr. Freedman, you may not know this, but you probably saved our asses today.

"Rodney rolled his eyes. "I already told her."

"Well, did he also tell you how pissed he was that you knew more about the shield than he did?"

Rodney looked annoyed.

"What happened out there today?" Katie asked Rodney, looking concerned.

Sheppard shrugged. "We just ran into an old friend. Couple of them, actually. Can't say as we really wanted to see either of them."

Sheppard and the others looked drawn and tired. It sounded like it'd been the worst possible kind of mission. Emily was surprised they hadn't just collapsed in their beds, pulling the covers over their heads. That's what she would have done.

"I'm just glad you're all ok," she said hesitantly. "I'll charge the shield and give them both to Dr. Weir tomorrow so they can be used again, when needed."

"What is it with those things?" Sheppard asked, looking disgruntled. "They're like the Ring from Lord of the Rings. Everybody wants 'em and nobody wants to share. Old Lucius knew how to transfer the thing, but he didn't want to give up that tidbit."

"So, Rodney told you about it, then?" Katie asked.

"No. Rodney was in a cell. No use to me there. He told me days ago. I just happened to remember. Lucius was not pleased."

Small talk ensued. Emily kept silent, eating her sandwich and observing the others interact. Katie seemed. . . nice—in a wholesome, apple-pie sort of way. Damn goody-two-shoes, she thought, uncharitably. What did he see in that saccharin sweetness? Opposites attract, or so they say. She'd never seen a more true example of that, she groused to herself, and had to stifle an eye roll.

Radek approached the group, a cup of coffee in one hand and a tablet under his arm. He addressed Rodney without preamble, "We just dialed the Ancient temple planet. We couldn't get a lock."

"Well, I guess we'll never know then," Rodney said sarcastically.

"Not necessarily—" Radek started to say.

Emily sat up a little straighter and interjected, "Did you just say, Ancient temple?"

"Oh, yes, yes, I've been meaning to show you this," Radek said, handing her the tablet.

"What's this?" She looked down at a sea of Ancient characters.

"I found an entry in the database about a planet that has an Ancient temple. I thought it was fascinating and finally got a chance to try dialing the planet tonight. It wouldn't connect, however, so the Stargate may have been destroyed by the Wraith. The database doesn't mention what's there except for the words 'much wisdom.'"

"Really," she breathed excitedly, quickly scrolling to the top of the document. She started reading, ignoring the others, still conversing. "Oh," she said after a few moments, frowning. "I can see how you would think this is a description of a temple—the language is very reverent, isn't it?"

Radek looked dejected. "It isn't a temple? What is it then?"

"Well, it's as close as the Ancients could get to worshipping something, I suppose." She looked back down, fascinated by the description she was reading. She scrolled down, completely engrossed.

"Well?" Rodney barked, startling her out of her absorption of the text.

She looked up. The others were watching her curiously. Rodney and Radek in particular were looking rather intense. The others, more mildly curious.

"Oh, sorry, it's pretty compelling."

"I imagine it is," Sheppard said with raised eyebrows. He seemed a little snarky.

"I'm fairly certain this is a description of a repository of knowledge."

"Oh, really?" Radek said, looking thoughtful.

"Huh," Rodney said, watching her closely.

"It seems more likely to me that the Ancients themselves disabled the gate on the planet, maybe even destroyed the repository itself, to keep the Wraith from discovering it—that would be a very, very bad thing if they did," she said, and resumed reading.

"What is a repository of knowledge?" Teyla asked.

Emily looked up. "Oh, well, we aren't entirely sure, actually. There are many theories. What we do know for certain is that it's capable of downloading vast amounts of knowledge into a person's brain—however, humans cannot handle the volume and contact with the device can be deadly. It's believed to only work on someone with the ATA gene, but we don't even know that for certain. It's an experiment no one's willing to commit to for obvious reasons."

"Isn't that what happened to General O'Neill?" Sheppard asked.

Rodney answered before she could formulate a reply, "Yeah, O'Neill was able to do some really incredible things with all that stuff in his head." His eyes were lit up and darting around like he was considering the possibilities.

Carson spoke up, "Don't get any ideas, Rodney. We don't have any Asgard around to fix you, should you decide to give it a try."

"What sorts of things?" Teyla asked.

"He was able to build some incredible pieces of technology, for one thing," Rodney said.

"He also solved very complex problems that our best scientists couldn't figure out and was able to read and speak fluent Ancient effortlessly," Emily commented. "It was in the early days of the Stargate program, long before I joined."

Teyla looked thoughtful and turned to Emily. "What would be the purpose of such a device?"

"Well, my personal belief is that an Ancient who knew they were about to ascend would download all of their knowledge into such a device. In the event that they should decide to retake human form, they could do so without losing anything. The Ascended don't normally let you keep your corporeal memories, should you decide to return to that state of being. It seems likely that only their most prominent thinkers would do such a thing. Our equivalent would be Albert Einstein or someone like him. A visionary."

"That sounds like the most plausible explanation I've heard," Carson commented.

"Some people think it's just knowledge intended to help their allies fight their enemies after they were gone," Rodney put in. She noticed that his hand, resting on top of the table, was moving restlessly, his fingers rubbing together, perhaps in tune with his thoughts.

"If that were the case, though, why not make it accessible to humans? We are supposed to be their treasured progeny, after all. It would seem to me that it wouldn't kill us if they really intended that. The Asgard said we weren't evolved enough yet to use it. I don't know. That could be true." She looked back down at the tablet and picked back up where she left off reading.

"Well, I'd better get back to the control room," Radek said, looking uncomfortable.

"Oh, of course," Emily said and reluctantly handed him back the tablet. She rose and hesitantly touched his arm, "Would it be a terrible imposition for you to show me where you found this in the database before you go back to the control room? I'd really like to read the entire entry and any related documents."

He looked pleased. "Not at all. I'd be glad to. In your lab?"

She nodded and picked up the remainder of her food, saying, "Please excuse me. Goodnight everyone."

Carson stood and there was a chorus of goodnights from the group. In fact the others looked like they were all rising and getting ready to head back to their quarters for the night.

"Emily," she heard someone say and turned back to see Katie tentatively raising her hand and saying, "You should join us for our girls' poker night."

Emily blinked a few times and then forced herself to reply with at least a little enthusiasm. "Oh, that sounds like fun. Um, I think you can probably send me the details in an email?" She glanced at Carson, who was smiling knowingly.

"Of course," Katie said brightly. "I'll be sure to do that."

Emily nodded and cast her eyes down, turning back to Radek, and they fell into step, walking to her lab. She'd been planning to go back to her quarters for a good cry, but this was probably a better choice. Distraction was always better than giving in.


	8. Chapter 8 scitor seek

Rodney escorted Katie back to her quarters. He'd hoped she might let him in tonight, but she cited fatigue and the late hour to put him off and he had to settle for a fairly platonic kiss goodnight before she shut the door in his face. He sighed. He wasn't completely sure if it was still Cadman's bizarre kiss hanging between them, or if she was just naturally reserved and cautious, but they'd been on several dates over the last couple of months and she hadn't let him get any farther than second base. It seemed that she was going to make him wait a really, really long time for any kind of real physical affection.

He shrugged that off and mulled over the events of the day as he plodded back to his own quarters. The mission had been such a simple one—to check out the rumors of a local superhero and establish some trade relations with a backwards village. How quickly everything had gone sour when Kolya showed up. At least the bastard was dead now, but it had been touch and go there for a few minutes. First his own life had been in immediate peril and then Sheppard's. Thank God Sheppard was fast on the trigger. It could have easily gone the other way. He rubbed the scar on his right forearm where one of Kolya's minions had sliced him when they tried to take the city. He would have that scar for the rest of his life to remember that son of a bitch. He was glad he was finally dead.

At least picking up another shield was a bonus. He was surprised he'd been able to talk it out of Lucius, but it'd been pretty clear to Lucius immediately that the thing was depleted. Emily would charge it up and maybe he could talk Elizabeth into letting him use one of them on some of the more dangerous missions. Emily. When had he stopped thinking of her as Dr. Freedman?

She seemed different tonight. From the second he walked in the door and startled her, she seemed different. Even nicer than before, warmer. She didn't seem to hold a grudge. He frowned. But it went beyond that. Why would she give him her last soda? Soda was more highly prized than just about any Earth-born luxury around here. Maybe she didn't know that yet. Either way, it was still pretty generous, given that she wouldn't be able to get more.

She'd read his mission reports; that was clear. That in itself wasn't unusual. He himself had read many of the reports from the SGC, particularly those of SG-1. She would have wanted to know what she might be getting into before coming to Pegasus. But she had read his reports and expressed sympathy for what he'd been through over the last two-plus years. She had expressed understanding. These were things he didn't get from anyone. No, all he got from everyone else was annoyance, criticism, and high expectations. She was different. Having her around could be good for him.

He arrived at his quarters and took off his boots and socks, wiggling his toes gratefully. It felt good to let his toes breathe after a long day in military boots. He started to strip down to take a shower, intending on rinsing off the remains of the terrible day, when he stopped suddenly, thinking. He wasn't tired anymore. Not really. Once he tapped into a second wind like this, he'd probably just lay there awake for a couple of hours, thinking. No, no—his brain wasn't going to shut off any time soon.

He started to put his shirt back on, but caught a whiff of it. He grunted, frowning, located a clean version of the same shirt, and pulled that on instead, ducking into the bath for a fresh layer of deodorant. He left his jacket where it had fallen on the floor and grabbed a fresh one of those too as he headed for the door. Once out in the corridor, he happened to look down and realized he wasn't wearing shoes. He cursed, turned back, rummaged around until he found a clean pair of socks, shoes, then tried again.

He often went back to the lab at times like this, to work for a few hours until he was tired again. There wouldn't be any harm in stopping by the archeology lab to see if Emily had uncovered anything interesting about the repository. He was certain she'd still be there. Sometimes she left the door to her lab open and he noted that she frequently was there working late into the night.

What was the right word to describe how Emily had seemed tonight? He settled on vulnerable as he strolled toward the transporter that would take him back to the central tower. He hoped she wasn't lying when she said no one was threatening her. She didn't seem the type to lie, though. Her admission that she felt like a social outsider was curious too. With that incredible smile and perky little body, he would have guessed she was the center of attention, not a nerdy wallflower, but he didn't think that was a lie either. She seemed sincere, troubled, and he wondered why she had divulged so much to him.

He stepped up to the door to her lab which had been left open. He could see her inside, concentrating on the wall display above the ancient console. _Damn. _ He would probably startle her again. She was always engrossed in something. He couldn't see any way around it so he knocked softly on the doorframe and pasted a friendly smile on his face.

As predicted, she jumped, put a hand to her chest, and sharply inhaled as she turned to see who was there.

"Sorry. I seem to keep doing that," he said as he walked casually through the door.

"Everyone does." She chuckled. "I figured you went to bed." He watched, fascinated, as she blushed three shades of pink, closed her eyes and gave a little shake of her head, saying, "I mean, you all looked so tired from the mission."

_Huh_, he thought, _she's about as bad as I am_. She hadn't been so nervous earlier though. His smile was easy to maintain now and he approached her, gesturing at the Ancient display to put her more at ease. "You prefer using the console to the laptop?"

She turned back to the display. "Oh, ah, yes. I don't know why. I just do."

"Find anything else interesting? About the repository?"

She shook her head. "Not really. It's frustrating how they always seemed to leave out precisely the details we want when they were so verbose otherwise. Dr. Jackson thinks that these are the things that were common knowledge among them."

"He thinks that's why they left things out? So people wouldn't get bored?" He wasn't bored. He was admiring how she filled out her uniform. Not too shapely—she had more of an athletic body type. Trim. A nice package, overall, really.

She shrugged. "If that was their goal, they weren't always successful. The author of this particular entry liked to embellish his writing with a lot of flowery prose. It's a bit of slog to get through the whole thing."

"Hm." He frowned. He'd been hoping she'd found something interesting, so he could stick around and chat about it for a while. He turned and noticed there was a large device laid out on a nearby bench with the housing off. _Hello._ Now there was something he could sink his teeth into. "What's this?" he asked nonchalantly, whilst peering avidly into the guts of the device.

"Oh, ah, Dr. Graden's been working on that. I believe it's a DNA sequencer. I thought it could be useful to Dr. Beckett's work, if we can figure it out. We do know that it came from a genetics lab based on its location when it was discovered. We have several artifacts from that lab, but there wasn't a lab inventory listed in the database, so we're flying blind as far as specifics." She looked at him inquisitively and came closer.

He frowned. She was going on dates with Carson, doing him favors. If he had to guess, based on Carson's non-stop jabbering, they would be an item in no time. "Has Neumann taken a look at it yet?" he asked.

"Not yet. She's been working on another device." She looked as though she were going to gesture at another bench, but faltered. "She must have put it away at the end of the day. She's very tidy."

"Yes, she's good. Graden's smart but sloppy," he said as he reached in and adjusted something Graden had clearly knocked loose. "A DNA sequencer, huh?" He looked around for a light source, found one nearby, and turned it on.

Emily indicated the housing. "I believe so. See—the housing says something like: DNA portrait delineation. I've never seen these words combined quite this way before, but then I haven't read too much about Ancient genetics techniques."

He tested a large component, saw that it easily disengaged, and lifted it out to see what was underneath. "Could you, uh," he said, gesturing to the light.

"Of course," she said, moving the light closer for him. "Couldn't sleep?" she asked softly.

"Hm?" Even as the sound came out of his mouth, he realized he actually had heard her question. He straightened and looked at her. She held the light source close to her hair, making it glow, the individual curls gleaming like golden sparks, casting uneven shadows on her pale face. She smiled, even now, just slightly, as though with amusement, but not in a negative way. Her brown eyes were shining, expressive. Her smile warmed him somehow. He was taken aback. He hadn't realized before that she was actually beautiful. He suddenly felt sort of dumbstruck, but after a moment's hesitation managed, "Oh, ah, didn't even bother. You?"

"I just do this. It's a bad habit." She pushed her hair back from her face and the light wavered, breaking the spell.

"Never enough hours in the day, anyway," he mumbled and hunched back down into the disassembled machine, squinting at the unfamiliar parts.

"Don't you have a hobby or something?"

"Are you kidding? This is my hobby." He gestured with a tool he'd found lying nearby, indicating the device, then double-checked it to make sure it was the right size, before putting it to use.

"You mean work? Oh, you mean the devices? Oh, of course."

He frowned and didn't look up. He hadn't meant to be so transparent. He could hear her moving around and metal rasping and clicking into place. Then, in his peripheral vision, he could see her setting up a stand for the light. He glanced up to see her adjusting it, concentrating on flooding his work zone with light.

"Thanks," he mumbled, as he briefly met her eyes.

She nodded and turned, striding purposefully to a set of stainless steel cabinets that lined one wall. He watched as she fished a key out of her pocket and unlocked each cabinet individually, opening the doors to reveal the contents. Inside were most of the devices he and his team had collected over the last two and a half years. She opened a drawer, pulled out a pair of latex gloves and slipped them on.

"Which ones do you want?" she asked.

He looked from her to the cabinets and back again. "What?"

"I'll set them aside for you. As many as you want. Surely you must have had your eye on a few of them?"

He took a step back and straightened up, not sure what was going on, exactly. "Well, I. . . ."

"Just let me do my part, first, ok? Then I'll send them over with a report and you can take it from there, whenever you have time."

"Really? You would do that?" Why was he floundering like this? He was the boss. He should man up and claim his territory. It was a good idea—one he should have thought of himself—it would have been better than ignoring her and pissing her off.

"Of course. Dr. Lee was the same way. He'd wander into my lab late at night after he'd already been home to put his kids to bed. He'd just putter around and see what everyone was doing, but I knew he was looking for a good one to pull apart and figure out. There were certain devices that would just. . . fill him with glee." She chuckled. "After a while I could guess which ones they might be and set them aside for him. Why didn't you just say something before?"

He followed her across the room, feeling foolish. She handed him a pair of gloves and he put them on absentmindedly, gazing greedily at the contents of the cabinets.

"They're all yours, after all, aren't they? You were here first. You collected them. You should get dibs. So. . . which ones turn you on?"

He glanced at her, startled by her language choice. She was turning pink again, but smiling mischievously at the same time. God dammit, but she was hot. He turned back to the cabinets and pulled out a device he'd had his eye on for a while. She plucked it from his hands and carried it over to her desk in the corner, out of the way. By the time she returned, he had another one ready. She took that as well. He shoved a few things aside, still looking, and saw her crouch down, pulling something out of a bottom cabinet.

"If you liked those two, this one might do as well?" she asked, presenting it to him.

"Ah, yes, I was looking for that one," he said gruffly, bewildered by her behavior. "That should do it. For now."

She nodded mutely, with a knowing smile.

"Do you mind if I—?" he asked, gesturing toward the DNA device while he peeled the gloves back off.

"Of course not, go ahead. I'm glad I'm not the only night owl around here. It gets kind of creepy at night sometimes."

"Mm. That's true."

She slapped a lab notebook down on the bench next to the DNA device. "Dr. Graden's working notes are in here if you want to take a peek."

"Paper?" he asked, confused.

"I insist on it. People are more thorough the old-fashioned way. They get lazy with laptops."

He shot her a quizzical look as he opened the notebook. "You file your weekly reports electronically."

"Of course I do. I do what you expect of me. They do what I expect of them. I'm not anti-technology. I just think, for some things, the old ways are better." She turned and resumed reading at the console. He watched her go, appreciating the view of her backside. Then he realized that if she was over there reading with her back turned and he was over here. . . there wouldn't be much talking and, well, he hadn't really come down here to claim these devices like some kind of caveman—glad as he was to somehow have done so.

He cleared his throat. "Hm. . . interesting." He pulled out a dispenser of a viscous, green liquid and sniffed at it, but couldn't detect any odor. Well if it was sealed well enough to stay put for ten-thousand years, it wasn't going to start leaking now, he supposed. He looked up and saw that she had taken the bait. He handed it to her.

"Still intact after ten-thousand years," she said, admiring it with awe.

"So, ah, do you. . . have any hobbies?"

"Hobbies?" she said faintly, still examining the dispenser. She pulled out a magnifying glass. She seemed to be trying to determine if she could extract any liquid, perhaps for analysis, without damaging it.

"Yes. Well, you asked me if I had any hobbies, so I just wondered. . . do you?"

She smiled at him. "My answer is the same as yours. Work."

He handed her another dispenser with a clear liquid, hoping she would say more.

"I like puzzles. I could sit and do a book of sudoku, but what would I have to show for it at the end?"

"A book of completed sudoku?"

"Exactly. I like having something useful to show for my time." She snorted, shaking her head. "My mother is always trying to get me to pick up some kind of needlework or something—that's her thing. She says I need to do something down to Earth. And that's just, well, it's completely absurd. Obviously, she doesn't know what I really do for a living. I mean, she couldn't possibly comprehend how ludicrous it is to suggest doing something down to Earth to someone living in another galaxy."

His mouth turned up on one side as he considered her logic. "Well, I don't see anything that would contradict your theory that this is a DNA sequencer. I'll reassemble it, turn it on, and take some readings." He started to put things back in place, starting with the liquid dispensers.

"Katie seems very nice—very, um, sweet-natured," she said quietly. He looked up to see her studying him.

He felt a pang of regret, wishing he'd never mentioned Katie to her. He'd sort of overplayed things when he'd mentioned their relationship earlier, and he wasn't sure why he'd done that either. He guessed he and Katie were technically a couple, though they spent so little time together, they barely qualified for the label. They had so little in common, he wasn't even entirely sure what the attraction was between them. Katie was great. She was sweet. Jeannie had told him that if he'd found someone who would put up with him, he should hold on and never let go. Given his history with women, it was probably good advice.

It was unlikely Katie had even been aware that he'd been off-world today, much less worried about him, so why had he said that earlier? What was he doing? Trying to play hard to get? That was utterly ridiculous. Then he'd gone off, found Katie, and dragged her to the mess hall, just to prove something to himself, but he wasn't sure what that was, exactly. Emily was still watching him closely, expecting him to comment, but he suddenly found himself on the fence, unwilling to discuss Katie further with her. He shrugged noncommittally and said, "Mm," pretending to be concentrating so hard on putting the device back together that he couldn't be bothered to comment further.

She seemed to take that as a signal that he was too busy to talk and walked away again, to read some more. He cursed himself, but even as he wracked his brain, he couldn't find a satisfactory response to her query. What was he doing here, anyway? If he was attached to Katie, why was he here, trying to figure Freedman out?


	9. Chapter 9 obses hostage

Rodney took his time, making certain everything was in place, well-seated, all connections tight. He replaced the housing and surveyed the machine carefully. The Ancients had peculiar ideas about electronics. God forbid they should put a simple on/off switch on anything. Some things responded to touch, others to thought, others required a sequence of buttons to be pressed. He picked up Graden's instruments and took some readings. It was sipping power, like an electronic device on standby, so it was already initialized.

Now the real problem was to figure out how it worked. There were small doors on each side of the long rectangular device. These were where the samples were placed, he was certain, based on the internal layout of the device. But he couldn't get them to open. There was also a small screen that he knew should pop up out of the front of the housing and he couldn't get that to happen either. He must have made some small sounds of disgruntlement, because Emily appeared at his elbow again, watching him work.

After a few moments, she volunteered, "Did you notice that the doors on each side say 'press simultaneously?'"

"What?" he asked irritably and joined her at the end of the bench to peer at one of the small doors again. He moderated his tone to make it more friendly when he continued, "All I see is the word 'press.'"

She frowned. "Oh. Hm. I sent an email meant for all Atlantis personnel, well over a year ago, containing my research into non-alpha-numeric symbols—didn't you get it?"

"You're saying this symbol means 'simultaneous'? I thought it was just some kind of decoration." He didn't remember getting such a memo, but that didn't mean he hadn't. No need to dwell on his previous lack of respect for her work, at any rate.

She looked annoyed. "Maybe it didn't get through for some reason. I'll have the SGC print something up to distribute, like a pamphlet or something. I find these symbols all over ancient technology—it's something everyone on base should be well-versed in."

"Maybe it got lost in the shuffle during one of our many crises?" he suggested.

She seemed perturbed over this revelation. She shook her head and he watched as her curls bounced and jiggled, just inches from his face. He caught a whiff of a fruity scent, something like ripe peaches, that must have come from her hair. He realized she was speaking again and tried to focus.

"Possibly. At any rate—yes, this symbol means simultaneous. It seems an odd method of opening these small apertures to load samples, though, doesn't it? I was thinking one side was for loading the sample and the other for extracting it, once finished, maybe?"

"Hm," he said, furrowing his brow. He reached out and touched both doors at the same time and nothing happened. He tried again, pressing a little harder and leaving his fingers there a little longer. Again, nothing. "Maybe it's the angle. Here, you press that one directly in the center of the door and I'll press this one—on a count of three."

"Are you sure that's a good idea? You do realize I'm not one-hundred-percent certain I'm correct about what this does."

"What's the worst that can happen? It's from a genetics lab. It's not a bomb," he said confidently with an enthusiastic smile. "I just want it to do something so I can take some more readings. There isn't much more to learn from it at this point. We can't analyze a sample until we get the doors open, right?"

She looked doubtful. "Ok, but what kind of sample do you want to put in it?"

"On Earth they commonly use mouth swabs, hair or skin, don't they? Do you have any hairs you could spare?" He smiled, gesturing at her abundant locks.

She touched her hair self-consciously and nodded, moving to the other side of the device.

He rubbed his hands together and raised his eyebrows at her in anticipation. "Ok, on three. One. . . two. . . three!"

She locked eyes with him, concentrating, and when he said three, she pressed on the door at the same time he did. He watched as her expression went from concentration to surprise and then rapidly to horror. He looked down and realized what her expression was about. His hand had been sucked into the machine and was being held there—gently, but firmly. "Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no," he said, sending her a shocked look.

"Dr. McKay, I can't seem to remove my hand from the device," she uttered in a strangled voice.

He braced his other hand against the device and pulled. The harder he pulled, the tighter the constriction against his wrist became, until he felt his fingertips tingle. He could hear things engaging and moving inside the machine. He eased up on the pressure and he felt the circulation return to his fingers.

He glared at her. "Are you certain this is a genetics device at all? It seems more like some kind of device meant to keep a couple of prisoners together or something."

"All I know for certain is that it was found in a genetics lab. I would think something meant for prisoners wouldn't need to be this large or elaborate. What are the liquids inside for?" She looked terrified.

His next thought was lethal injection but he swallowed convulsively and kept that thought to himself because she looked like she was already on the verge of a panic attack.

"What should we do?" she implored, then gasped, her gaze flying back to the machine.

He felt it too. Something inside the machine was wetting his fingers with a cold solution of some kind. He went to tap his radio, but the hand he usually used wasn't up for the task at the moment, so he awkwardly made use of the other one. "Radek? This is McKay. I need you to come down to the archeology lab ASAP." He smiled at her nervously while he waited for a reply. He glanced at his watch and suddenly felt something roughly abrading his forefinger. He heard Emily whimper. "Ow! Dammit. Radek!" he bellowed.

"McKay? Is that you?" he heard faintly over a loud rushing sound which promptly shut off.

"Yes it's me. Get your ass down to the archeology lab. Dr. Freedman and I. . . we have. . . we need assistance immediately."

He heard a sigh over the radio. "Fine. But it will take a few minutes. I was just taking a shower. What kind of assistance do you need?"

"Our hands are stuck in a device. Just get down here." He frowned and couldn't stop himself from asking, "You wear your radio in the shower?"

"I must have forgotten to take it off. It's very late. Why aren't you in bed?"

"Just hurry, ok? McKay out." He glanced at Emily. She had a strange, contorted look on her face. "He just got off his shift in the control room. I was hoping to catch him, but. . . he's already gone back to his quarters."

She seemed to cough and struggle to say, "Did you just say he was wearing his radio in the shower?"

"What? Didn't you just hear our conversation?"

She made a strange sound in the back of her throat and stuttered, "No, I don't have. . . my radio on at the moment." Then she started laughing hysterically. She turned away, as much as she could, and covered her mouth with her free hand, her hair falling forward, bouncing with each convulsive laugh.

"Dr. Freedman? Emily? Are you ok?" he asked, staring at her in disbelief. He'd never seen anyone react that way to a stressful situation before. "It's going to be ok, Emily. Don't, ah, don't. . . worry. Radek will, you know, get us free somehow."

She glanced at him and took a couple of breaths. It looked like she was trying to stop. She quieted enough to get out, "I know. It's just so crazy—I mean look at us!" Then she was giggling again which led right back into the uncontrollable laughs that had her whole body shaking.

She sobered up a second later when they both felt the sting of another solution being sprayed on the tender skin that had just been scraped raw.

"Ouch! Dammit. What do you think it's doing?" he demanded of her.

"I don't know! That felt like antiseptic to me, but I hardly have anything to base that on." He thought maybe she was about to start laughing again, because she was lunging and twisting, then he realized the display had popped up on the device and she was struggling to try to see it, but her hand was trapped in such a way that she couldn't get at an angle where she could see it properly. He, however, could just take a step to the side and see it fairly clearly, though at an awkward angle.

"What does it say?" she demanded.

"There's a large symbol. Underneath it, it says touch here to continue." He reached out to touch the screen.

"Wait! What does the symbol look like? Don't you dare touch one more thing until we know more." He looked at her, expecting her to look wild-eyed and desperate, but instead she was deadly serious.

"I can't turn it off, unless I have access to the controls, Dr. Freedman."

"I'm well aware of that, but by pressing that you could irrevocably set something in motion that neither one of us wants to experience!"

He glared at her.

"You said, it says touch here 'to continue.' I really don't want it to continue doing anything, do you? Describe the symbol to me. Now."

He grit his teeth. He didn't like it when people second guessed him—especially when they might be right. "Fine. It's sort of circular in shape and there are three lines. One is convex, the next is straight, and the third is concave. There is a small oval shape wrapping around the three lines in the middle."

"Draw it."

"Dr. Freedman—"

"There's a notebook right there, dammit. Draw the symbol. Accurately."

He awkwardly slid the notebook nearer with his left hand and shot her a withering glance. He wedged his body against the notebook so it wouldn't fall to the floor and he drew the design as best he could with his left hand. Then he held the notebook out to her.

She took it and studied it. "How accurately would you say you drew this?"

"Accurately," he ground out. "What? You don't recognize it?"

"Give me a minute." She was still staring at the design.

"Well, either you recognize it or you don't," he said impatiently.

"I've never seen a symbol like this in an Ancient context," she admitted, but still looked pensive.

"See? I knew this was a waste of time."

She closed her eyes and said, insistently, "But it is familiar. I've seen something like it before."

He rolled his eyes. "Too bad you don't have eidetic memory."

"Like you do? Please!"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, give me a break. You can't remember anyone's name—you can hardly claim to have perfect memory."

"It—I—it doesn't work like that! I can perfectly recall plenty of things. Names just aren't one of them. I'm a genius. It's part of my. . . charm."

"Along with hubris?" She was grinning and shaking her head.

"The symbol, Dr. Freedman?"

"It's interesting that you called me Emily until we got into this mess. Now I'm Dr. Freedman again," she muttered.

He was beginning to feel really impatient with her. "Don't you feel the pressure of time, Dr. Freedman?"

"At the moment? It's not doing anything—so no. Cool your heels, Dr. McKay and don't touch anything."

She could be right. It could be waiting for further instruction. Or. . . . "How do you know it still isn't in some preparatory phase? It could be about to lop our fingers off at any moment."

She began to speak like she was thinking aloud. "This could represent a shock of wheat or other grain—meaning something to do with harvesting something. That really doesn't sound good. But then. . . it also reminds me of a symbol I once saw in Rome—two-thousand-year-old graffiti of. . . an aspect of female. . . anatomy." She was blushing again. She squeezed her eyes shut tight, her left fist touching her forehead. Suddenly she opened them again and they were wide with panic as she exclaimed, "Oh, crap! Crap, crap, crap—we have to get out of this!" She was tugging on her arm again, frantically.

"What? What is it?" he asked hoarsely.

"It's a damn fertility symbol—that's what it is! This isn't a DNA sequencer. It's going to try to recombine DNA from our somatic cells to make a viable zygote!"

He looked at the device with growing dismay. "Son of a bitch. Are you sure? I thought only gametes could do that—you know, egg and. . . sperm?" He slumped a little. He couldn't believe he'd just said the word 'sperm' to her.

"Of course—that's the. . . traditional way. But even on Earth right now there are people researching things like this. With cloning and in vitro fertilization, this would be the next logical step. Gay couples who want their own children, people who can't produce their own. . . gametes. There are any number of reasons why a technology like this would be invented. We just. . . we cannot let this finish the process, Rodney."

"Obviously. I'm open to suggestions, here."

"Can't we just pull the power supply?"

"I've already thought of that. There are mechanical parts moving around in there. It's going to take two hands to take off the housing again and then tools to get to the power supply. We could try to work together, but with two uncoordinated left hands? It would be safer for our remaining digits to wait for Radek."

"Sh!" She looked alarmed. "It's doing something," she whispered.

He listened, staring at her, sure his eyes were just as wide and freaked out as hers were. Then he heard it, like before, the sound of something clicking in place and spraying something on their trapped fingers.

"Oh my God. I didn't feel that. Did you?" he asked, still whispering.

"No. Our fingers must be numb." She sagged against the device. Her face looked pale and anguished. "That was probably another disinfectant. It's been preparing the site—getting rid of any foreign DNA that might be there. It's going to take a sample from us now," she said, sounding certain, defeated.

"Ok. Then do you agree we have nothing to lose now? I should try to use the touchscreen, don't you think?"

She nodded. He felt guilty. If he hadn't come down here hoping to flirt with her, if he hadn't been showing off, if he hadn't bullied her into pressing on the compartment door. . . .

He started navigating through the touchscreen, but it wasn't a simple matter. There was a lot of genetics-related terminology. He was having trouble locating the root control commands. He suspected she would have better luck wading through this stuff, if she were the one on this side of the machine. He was squinting just to read it from this odd, sideways angle. Then he felt it—a single point of pressure and a squeeze. It didn't hurt exactly; but it was uncomfortable. Then, with a quiet hiss, the device released their hands.

He pulled out his hand and looked at it, expecting to see a mangled, bloody mess. Instead, all he found was a raw, pink patch on his index finger, less than a centimeter in diameter, with a tiny, bloodless hole, the size of a pencil lead, in the center. The machine was busy again now. In the near silence of the lab, he could hear its whisper-soft clicks and whirs as it prepared the samples for processing. He looked up to see what Emily's reaction was, but she was already moving between him and the touchscreen, navigating quickly from screen to screen.

He looked over her shoulder, standing a little closer than was really necessary, and watched in case she needed help. It was close enough to catch the fruity scent of her hair again and he tried not to be too obvious about sniffing it. He felt a bewildering urge to put a reassuring hand on her shoulder, but resisted it, knowing it wasn't professional or needed. She seemed to know exactly what she was doing—and was reading each screen much faster than he could—which wasn't to say it wouldn't have just taken him a few seconds more. When she found the basic command prompts, he raised a hand to assist, but she quickly told the device to abort the process and discard the samples. Moments later a drawer opened on the front of the device containing two small test tubes, each with a tiny cone-shaped piece of tissue floating in clear liquid.

She crossed the room and sank into the only chair in the room, positioned next to her desk. She looked at her finger for a moment, then pulled her legs up until her knees were level with her chin. She wrapped her arms around her folded legs and rested her forehead on her knees.

"You ok?" he ventured, approaching her cautiously, trying to smile. "Looks like we averted disaster."

She looked at him warily. "I'm fine. This isn't the first time a device has taken me by surprise."

"It's what you thought, then?"

"Yes. I think it's safe to say Dr. Weir won't want my team wasting any more time on this technology. We'll document it and put it in storage tomorrow and start work on. . . something new."

She put her feet back on the floor, wearily opened a desk drawer, and pulled out a small cardboard box. She fished out two bandaids and opened one, saying, "Let me see it. You should keep it covered until it heals. It's not big enough for a stitch and I'm fairly certain it's clean, given what the device was doing."

He held out his finger and she gently wrapped the bandage in place. Then she looked up into his face. She looked a little sad and. . . longing? Surely his mind had to be playing tricks on him in the aftermath of the adrenaline rush. His heart was thudding heavily in his chest in response to her vulnerable expression. He felt a sudden urge to grab her up and kiss her, but he wasn't stupid enough to act on it. He just stood there, numbly watching her, feeling uncertain about what he was supposed to do next.

"Well, what kind of pickle did you get yourself into now?"

Rodney turned to see Radek standing in the doorway with his arms folded and a disapproving expression on his face. His hair was wet and slicked back from his face—it was the most clean cut he'd ever seen Radek appear.

"You're too late. We figured it out ourselves," Rodney groused. "Thanks for nothing."

Radek harumphed, his eyes landing on Emily who was placing a bandage on her own finger. He crossed the room rapidly, a concerned expression replacing the annoyed one. "What did this louse do to you?" he asked, pulling her hand out of her lap to examine her fingers.

She chuckled weakly and said, "It wasn't his fault. It was just bad luck."

Radek shot Rodney a suspicious look and rattled something off in Czech.

She smiled a fulsome smile at Rodney and patiently answered Radek. Then she walked over to the device, showing it to him. He assumed she was describing what happened to Radek in Czech. She had completely recovered her composure; she was acting like she thought the ordeal had been mildly humorous.

Radek was being annoyingly, overly solicitous. He switched back to English and said, "You shouldn't be up so late working on devices. It's easy to make a mistake." He sent Rodney another censorious look before turning back to Emily. "Let me escort you back to your quarters. You should get some rest."

"No, no," she protested. "I'm fine. I need to wrap up a few things here and then I'll go to bed, I promise. You two go ahead. I'm perfectly capable of walking home on my own, I assure you. Go on, go. I'm fine. I'm sorry we disturbed your rest, Radek."

Radek was eyeing him. It seemed like he was reluctant to leave unless he saw Rodney leave too.

Rodney felt like he should say something more to her. Maybe he should apologize again. . . but she didn't seem disturbed anymore, so maybe it wasn't necessary. And anyway, he would never say such a thing in front of Radek.

Finally, he ended up awkwardly in the doorway. "I'll ah, be in my lab for another hour or so, in case you need any help with anything. . . else." She nodded and he turned to go, hearing Radek quietly telling her goodnight.

He settled in his lab and looked around for something to pass the time. He kept mulling over what had happened and couldn't manage to make himself accomplish anything at all. He'd had crushes before. It was an all-too-familiar feeling. He knew it would pass with time. The key was to not let it distract him too much and to try not to make a fool of himself. Things like this, feelings like this, would surely go away once he and Katie graduated to some kind of a more meaningful level, right? After a while he heard a sound in the hall and he rose to peek outside the lab. He saw Emily's solitary figure walking slowly down the hall toward the transporter.


	10. Chapter 10 inventio discovery

Coffee, coffee and more coffee was going to be the order of the day today. After her late-night adventure with McKay, Emily had lain awake for hours, leaving precious few for rest. She felt groggy as she pulled her laptop closer, preparing to write a report for McKay and Weir about the somatic fertility device.

The keys clattered under her fingertips. She tried to write a dispassionate, professional report, but her mind kept wandering. First of all—McKay—what the hell? He hadn't wanted anything to do with her, nothing whatsoever, for weeks. Then, yesterday, he turned up for no apparent reason, twice. Twice? The first visit had been baffling enough, but somewhat plausible—though she was sure he could have sent that shield down with anyone and he clearly wasn't the type to apologize. The second visit. . . had seemed more like a social call, but she didn't have a clue what it might mean.

She quietly heaved with perverse chuckles. They had nearly performed an immaculate conception right there in the lab—when what she really wanted to do with him was far from a cold, sterile lab experiment.

And that wasn't all. She was already feeling nervous about using the gate later in the day, the pointy edges of the blister pack in her pocket reminding her she may not have anything to fear from the gate this time. Then there was the event itself. She wasn't sure if Carson meant the invitation to be a date or just a friendly get together. It sounded like there might be many people going, so that sounded more like a friend-thing. But. . . the way he'd been talking the week before sounded a lot more like date-talk.

As the day went on, anxiety kept slowly creeping up and it got harder to keep her mind on task. Finally she had to admit she wasn't going to get much accomplished for the day and went over to the Ancient console that interfaced with the database. Most people used the search feature to find things in the database, but there was also an extensive menu system that was interesting to browse, not unlike the internet, and she decided to try to distract herself by delving into it to see what interesting things she might find.

She read a bit about Ancient history and the history of the war with the Wraith, which was fascinating, but not the light reading she was hoping for. She read a bit about the Ancient scientist Janus and his frequent reprimands for unauthorized experiments that the other Ancients deemed too risky. He was of particular interest to Dr. Jackson, she remembered. She ought to send him this entry.

Then she stumbled on a section about the Stargate itself and she clicked on that out of curiosity to see what might be there. The menu listed subheadings for topics like maps of the galaxy where Stargates were located, science and wormhole technology, composition of the materials used to manufacture a gate, control crystal specifications, anatomy and physiology of persons and objects utilizing the gate. She clicked on the last one.

Another long list of subheadings came up which included the physics of demolecularization and its effects on physiology. She clicked through several more subdirectories, most of which were too technical for her to truly understand without further intensive study, so she started to back out of it to look for something else to read, but suddenly something stood out. At the bottom of a list it said simply, "Wormhole travel sensation and illness." Tension thrummed through her as she clicked on it.

She couldn't believe her eyes as she read the first few paragraphs. A riot of emotions bubbled up and crashed over her. It was a cogent description of her experience with the gate. She could have written it herself. She turned, casting around. She had to show this to someone. Her lab was empty. Where had Neumann and Graden gone off to? She didn't even finish reading the entry. She couldn't contain herself. She wanted to shout it from the top of the central tower. She left the lab, practically skipping, to find Radek. But when she got to the main science lab, no one was there either. She frowned, confused, wondering where everyone went. She was reaching for her radio when she heard a metallic grating sound coming from the other side of the lab. She walked over and found McKay behind a bench on his knees working on a large device.

He looked up as she approached, "Oh, hi, Emily."

She still felt giddy. "Rodney, I want to show you something. Could you come to my lab for just a moment?"

"I'm kind of in the middle of something. What is it?"

She resisted the urge to grab him and pull him along. "I just found something in the Ancient database."

"Yeah? What?" He was focused on something inside the machine.

"Proof that I'm not a nutcase. Just come see." He was looking pretty reluctant. She giggled, "Come on!"

He sighed and started to pick himself up off the floor, groaning with the effort. "You know, I like to get things done when they're all off at meals so I won't be disturbed—and I'm going to that thing on New Athos so I won't get anything done later." He looked at her again, suspiciously. She was beaming at him. "You're awfully smiley."

When they arrived at her lab she pointed at the computer display on the wall, "Look—it's right there in black and white. Well, blue and gold—I'm a gate sensor."

"What?" He squinted and started reading. "This is what you—"

"Yes." She couldn't stop smiling.

"Huh. This is. . . fascinating." He glanced at her as though seeing her in a new light. "How did you find this?"

"I was just surfing through the database and came across it."

"Surfing, huh?" He smiled at her, leaned down and scrolled through the text. "Green tunnels of light. Hypnotic circular motions. Disorientation. So, you really saw all that stuff. That's. . . amazing. But this says it's very rare, even among Ancients." He looked skeptical.

She snorted. "Well, then I must be descended from a very rare Ancient," she replied confidently.

"Possibly." He turned back to the display and kept reading. "It says there are treatments, so maybe—"

"It does?" She came in closer to read through more of the text, bumping into him clumsily. Her pulse quickened and she tried to ignore it.

He backed off a bit and looked at her incredulously. "Didn't you read it?"

"No, I just skimmed the first section and had to tell someone," she said and smiled sheepishly.

"You know that's weird, right?"

She chuckled. "Maybe. I guess. But I don't care. It's real! You can't imagine how I feel. After the hell I went through—the crap I took from people at the SGC about this—the disappointment because I couldn't contribute. This is vindication! I cannot wait to shoot this off in an email to the SGC."

He nodded. "Yeah. I guess I'd feel the same way. You should show this to Carson. Maybe he can figure out what they were using as a treatment and give you something."

She sat down in her chair and grinned from ear to ear at him. "Yeah."

"Ooooo-kay." He started backing up, eyebrows raised, "Am I free to go now? 'Cause it's almost time to go to New Athos and I need to get that thing fixed."

She nodded. "Thanks for humoring me."

He shook his head, looking amused. "Sure. Ah, congratulations and whatnot, I guess. I'll see you later—at Teyla's feast."

She barely noticed his departure. She'd already scooped the laptop onto her lap, intending to download the section, translate it in its entirety, and send it in an email to Dr. Jackson—cc-ing the entire medical staff, psychology staff, and General Landry in one swift, gratifying reprisal.

* * *

Rodney thought he might have finally put his finger on it. He pulled out a circuit board, tested it with a voltmeter, and placed it on the platform of a stereo microscope to double-check the incredibly tiny components. The thing that made Emily so different from most women—most adults, actually. She had some kind of child-like wonder about things. Meaning, she was enthusiastic, but not really in an annoying way. It wasn't that she wasn't serious when she needed to be—that was just the thing, wasn't it? Even then she clearly was thrilled with learning something new, exploring unknowns. She could even recognize it in other people, too. She'd completely understood his desire to study the devices and had generously offered him as many as he wanted. She acknowledged the fact that he felt like they were his. That just. . . people weren't usually that nice to him.

He replaced that circuit board and picked up the next one. This thing about being a gate-sensor—her description had been really intriguing, but he'd doubted her story's authenticity. Then she went and found proof in the database and it didn't even sound like she'd been looking for it. The weirdest part was, that while she'd clearly been hurt or offended by his skepticism, it didn't really seem like her purpose in bringing him there today was to rub his nose in it. It seemed more like she wanted someone to celebrate with.

God, that smile of hers. When she'd bumped into him, he'd felt his heart pound. She'd looked up at him so. . . something—he wasn't sure what that look had meant, actually—and it had only lasted a second. He closed his eyes and committed that look to memory so he'd never forget it. He wanted to hope it meant she liked him. It was unlikely, he knew. A girl like her could have any guy she really wanted. Carson and Radek were already wrapped around her fingers.

He would like to think she'd come looking for him, but more than likely it was Radek she'd been looking for. He'd noticed the two of them eating meals together sometimes, babbling in Czech, though it did seem like she must often eat in her lab alone. He just didn't see her in the mess that often—and lately he'd been looking. Maybe she really did have difficulty establishing friendships like she'd mentioned. That thought surprised him. He didn't normally think about other people or their needs in that way. Most people just got in his way, but she—she was getting under his skin.

He'd lain awake for a couple of hours last night just thinking about her and the encounter with the device. He wished Radek hadn't shown up when he did. The thought had occurred to him later that he should've asked her to go for a walk in the city with him. He could've shown her some of his favorite spots where there are some really spectacular views of the city at night. It would've been especially cool if the moon was out. Right now, that huge pink moon was something to see with the city in the foreground.

Radek told him something interesting today. The repository of knowledge was in a system with two habitable planets—the other one had a Stargate as well. That meant it was accessible by puddle jumper, but it would be a nine to fourteen hour trip, one way, to the repository planet, depending on where the planets were in their respective orbits at the time. He wondered if he could arrange it so that he could take Emily there. All those hours with her, alone, in the small confines of a jumper. Who knew what might happen, right? It was probably wishful thinking. Someone would manage to ruin it for him. John would insist on sending a military complement or something. Elizabeth would want to send a larger science team.

He sighed with frustration. One thing he knew for sure. If he was ever at a place in his life where making a baby was a viable option—and if he had a girl like Emily to make it with—he sure as hell wouldn't be making it with some damn machine.

* * *

Emily's fingers flew over the keyboard, nearing the end of the translation of the first section of the entry. As icing on the cake, she would write some kind of magniloquent introduction to rub their faces in their casual dismissal of her experience. Or not. Mm. Maybe. _Crap. _ She sat there musing, wishing she could see their dismay as they realized how poorly they'd treated her. She sighed. Was it really their fault? Hadn't they all had more than enough of the preposterous? Could she really blame them, when even among the Ancients the occurrence in the general population was something like one in 0.003 of a percent or less? The fact that the Ancients not only acknowledged it, but studied it in depth when the occurrence was so minuscule, was nothing short of amazing. She might not have even inherited this from her Ancient ancestor. It could be a human trait. A very rare, annoying, stupid trait—that on Earth wouldn't even have mattered if she'd never sent a hopelessly naive letter to someone she'd never met.

She frowned and scrolled down to re-read the treatment section. The Ancients recommended a lo-tech, common sense technique as the first approach to treatment of the illness. If that failed to bring relief, there was a list of chemical compounds that could be tried, in sequence. She wondered if Carson would be able to make sense of the list of medications based on their molecular formulas and structures, then she started guiltily, remembering the feast for the first time in hours. She glanced at her watch and muttered, "Crap." She'd lost track of time—there was no time left to ask Carson about it now. It was almost time to go.

She swallowed the pill Carson had given her and raced to her quarters to change out of her uniform into something more casual. She grabbed a warm jacket and bolted for the central tower.

She arrived in the gate room breathless and five minutes late. Carson was waiting but didn't seem disturbed. He carried a backpack clearly marked as medical supplies but was otherwise handsomely attired in some jeans and a leather jacket. He smelled good too, she noticed, realizing vaguely that he had probably meant this as a date.

He waved to Chuck up in the control room. "Are you ready, my dear?"

She took a deep breath and nodded. Soon she was facing the blue puddle of the event horizon. She stepped forward, determined to believe that the Ancients had solved this—that their recommendation would somehow help. She'd always braced herself before, attempting to show no fear in front of her colleagues, knowing they'd see how weak she was on the other side and hating it. So it felt cringingly strange to pinch her eyes closed tight and step through.


	11. Chapter 11 confessio confession

Emily stood there for a moment with her eyes still closed, waiting for the inevitable wave to overcome her. She could smell woodsmoke. There was a strong breeze and she heard dry leaves rattling in trees. She felt a little dazed, maybe just a little. . . dizzy, and her stomach flip-flopped once, then was still. She took another breath and opened her eyes. Relief flooded her senses. She didn't really feel too bad. She moved forward and sat down on the steps that led down from the gate platform, further assessing how she felt.

"Emily?" Carson was studying her closely. He slid down next to her. "I'm sorry, love. It didn't work then?"

She smiled at him. "No, it did work. I don't feel too bad—just a little queasy, but I think it'll pass quickly." She told him about her discovery in the database. He said he would be glad to go over it with her and to look over the treatments the Ancients had used.

She smiled, thinking about the simplicity of the answer. "The interesting thing is. . . that on these short jumps within one galaxy, I have a relatively mild case, compared to the case reports in the database. Some of the Ancients, an extremely minute number of their population, got violently ill from gate travel. Luckily, I never get that sick—though the trip through the intergalactic space came close, just due to the extended exposure to the wormhole, I suppose. For mild sufferers, the database suggests the simple measure of closing one's eyes—can you believe that, Carson? Just close your eyes? It's just insane." She shook her head. "Why didn't I think of that? It's just a form of motion sickness. You were right."

"I think it's brilliant," he said and smiled brightly.

They could see Teyla, a tall man, and a group of children approaching from a distance. Teyla waved at them and Carson stood and waved back.

"I don't want to rush you," he said. "Let me know when you're ready."

She nodded and looked down at her hands in her lap. He was so kind and gentle. Why couldn't she feel that tug, the tingle, the spark that she felt when she looked at Rodney? He was certainly handsome and seemed to like her. She needed to put all the nonsense with Rodney behind her. Then maybe she would be able to feel something for someone else. She rose and they started hiking down to meet Teyla. Teyla introduced the tall man as Halling, the Athosian leader.

It was only a little earlier in the day here, maybe by just a few hours, than it had been on Lantea when they left. The sun was warm on her face, which felt wonderful. She was glad she had thrown on a jacket, though. She suspected once the sun went down, it would be chilly.

There was a wide track, composed of trampled grasses and hard-packed earth, that cut through the forest and led from the gate to the settlement. Teyla walked with Emily and Carson back to the settlement, leaving Halling and the children to continue on to the gate to greet the others. The trees lining the path were shot with crimson and gold. If her mother were here, she would want to know what those trees were, if they bore any resemblance to the species back home, Emily thought wistfully. This climate evoked thoughts of home.

Emily took a deep breath. "I miss this. Being outside. You just don't realize how important it is, until you can't really do it."

Teyla smiled at her. "It is important for the soul, is it not?"

"I agree," Emily said. "When I was growing up, my mom would drag me out to garden with her and I found it so tedious, but I would do anything to get those hours back now and enjoy them. I have a balcony in my quarters and I like to sit outside in the morning, listen to the birds that come to the city, but it just isn't the same as this—trees, grass, warm sun, and a breeze."

"You have a balcony in your quarters?" Carson asked. "I'm jealous."

"It's small—tiny, actually, but yes." She smiled at him and tried to soak in the details of the beautiful day.

When they approached the settlement, Teyla led them to a tent-style shelter. In and around the shelter, a few men and women were cooking over open fires and braziers. Emily noted a series of adobe-style, mud-brick ovens where she assumed the warm, grainy smells were coming from. The air was fragrant with exotic spices. There was game roasting on spits and casseroles bubbling in earthen crocks as well as thick stews simmering in cauldrons. One of the women welcomed her inside. They showed her the meal preparations and gave her some little tastes of the rich and delicious meal at the end of smoothly-shaped, wooden spoons.

She realized with surprise that they weren't treating her like some strange outsider, but like long-lost kin. Her fingers itched to touch the pots, the platters and tools, to examine them outside in the light with a critical eye to understanding their method of manufacture. But she wasn't supposed to be an archeologist here, just a friend, so she refrained from making requests that they would surely be happy to comply with, but would disrupt the flow of their efforts. She lingered a while, watching them, until they seemed to forget she was even there as they grew busy with their final preparations and she reluctantly decided to get out of their way.

She emerged from the shelter to find Carson waiting outside and that the others had arrived. Sheppard was pulling a small wagon with cases of beer to share. Athosians were setting up trestle tables in a line down the alley between the portable shelters.

Rodney approached, rubbing his hands together and smiling. "Looks like they're about to start," he said.

"Where's Katie, then?" Carson asked him.

"Oh, she thinks she's coming down with a cold. She just wanted to rest."

Emily thought he looked a bit odd when he said that, but he turned quickly, surveying the business of the settlement, and she couldn't be sure what that was about.

The Athosians were gathering around Halling and Teyla, waiting expectantly as a few of them passed out cups being filled with a dark red liquid.

"Ah, the Rhus wine," Carson commented. "Lovely stuff, but be careful, Emily, it's stronger than it tastes. It has a real kick to it, so don't drink too much, or you may come to regret it." He shook his head like he had experienced such regret. She noticed Rodney seemed to be in agreement.

Halling began to speak of the blessings of the good first harvest so soon after being relocated from Lantea to New Athos. He spoke of fine weather, good trading partners, good friends and good health. He concluded with a brief prayer to the Ancestors in Ancient and Emily hung on every word, fascinated, wishing it were longer. It was a short and simple speech, after which the Athosians cheered and raised their cups before drinking deeply. The wine was rich and fruity, burning a warm trail down Emily's throat as she drank. It seemed to break a subtle tension and the crowd grew merry as they sat down to the meal.

Platters and earthenware bowls were passed from hand to hand down the long line of trestle tables. Emily held them reverently, selecting small portions of food from each one. The food was a mix of familiar and exotic. She was unaccustomed to eating game, much less game from another planet, but the preparation was not so unfamiliar. The stews were similar in form, but flavored with spices that were reminiscent of Indian food in some ways. Great care had been taken that each morsel was succulent and rich, yet not cloying.

And the wine seemed to be in never-ending supply. Even before her cup was empty, someone was there to refill it again. As the Athosians teased each other and roared with laughter, she found herself joining in and laughing as well, despite not knowing the inside jokes. The joy the people felt was infectious and she felt a sense of belonging, like to a long-lost, extended family that she had just met.

All too soon, the meal was over but the merry-making was not. As dusk approached, a large bonfire was lit and rough wooden benches were placed nearby. The Athosians broke out some instruments and the children played and danced in an open space. Emily noted that Sheppard had cracked open his cases of beer to share with the villagers. She found herself gazing in awe at the darkening sky. This world had a pair of large moons of disparate sizes that were floating just above the horizon. Neither of them was full and they seemed to have curvilinear pieces carved from them at odd angles. They were breathtaking. She sat down near the bonfire with Carson, feeling warm and content, quietly sipping the wine and watching the children play.

Carson brought her out of her reverie by placing a hand on her knee and asking, "I'd like to visit with a few of my patients, while I'm here. It'll take just a few moments. Would you like to come with me?"

"No, I'm happy to stay here by the fire, if that's ok with you?"

"Of course—back in a jiffy," he said, patting her knee and getting up to go.

Shortly after Carson left, Rodney joined her. He had a pleasant smile on his face and said, "You seem to be having a good time."

"Aren't you?" She looked at him curiously.

"This isn't really my thing."

"You don't like coming to these kinds of things?"

He looked at her dubiously, "Are you kidding? It's like Thanksgiving and Christmas—what's to like?"

"Happy people, having fun?" She wrinkled her brow in confusion.

"Not in my family." He looked closed off again.

"Why did you come, then?"

He shrugged. "Teyla asked me to."

"Oh. It's a team thing. My team would never have invited me to anything. I puked on one of them, once—by accident—and that was it. I was _persona non grata_ after that." She tried to look forlorn, but ended up smiling, then chuckling. He chuckled too. "Maybe a little wine will make you feel more cheerful? This stuff is incredible." She took another sip.

"I need to keep my head clear. I've got a lot of stuff going on back in Atlantis. I don't need a hangover getting in my way. You better be careful or you'll be out of commission for at least a day. That stuff is brutal."

"Don't worry, McKay. I'm not a lightweight."

He looked skeptical but didn't pursue it. "So, you actually like these things?"

"Love them. I've been to a few different harvest festivals around the world, back on Earth. I do love thanksgiving. My mom is a great cook. I'll miss her turkey this year," she said, feeling a little heartsick at that thought. "But the best harvest festival I've ever been to is La Tomatina in Spain. You haven't lived until you've had tomatoes squished into your ears and dripping from your hair."

He looked baffled. "What are you talking about?"

"La Tomatina? It's a harvest festival at the end of August near Valencia. People from all over the world descend on this tiny, little town and for one hour in the town center they have this incredible food fight with crates upon crates upon crates of tomatoes. The pulp gets to be ankle deep in the street. Some people wear goggles because it burns when it gets in your eyes. It's hilarious. They're quite serious about it. By the end you're all slippery with tomato goo and everyone is trying to stay standing upright in the slippery muck—people's clothes are half torn off from clinging to each other. Even me. I bet that's a harvest celebration you could enjoy," she said smiling.

He seemed to be fascinated. "I bet I would. You really did that?"

She nodded. "If we're ever on Earth at the same time, at the end of August, I could take you. I have an old tutor in Valencia. It's a good trip." She wasn't about to mention that she'd been dragged to that event reluctantly, or that she'd been mortified by her state of undress by the end of it. It still had been. . . incredibly fun. . . and. . . freeing, in an odd way.

"You're full of surprises, Emily." He was studying her and it was making her feel really self-conscious.

She snorted. "I travel a lot—or did, before I joined the SGC. And why not? Why not make this ridiculous ability useful? That's why I embraced the Stargate program. But that didn't really turn out as I'd hoped. Instead of getting out there, learning about new cultures, exploring ruins, objects and languages, I'm stuck in a lab cataloging devices and translating, wondering when the Wraith are going to show up to eat me."

"Hm. You said they grounded you because of your reaction to the gate?"

"Yes. But that's just changed, hasn't it? I've finally solved that puzzle." She smiled at him. "I'm so glad I found that passage in the database. That was worth the trip to Pegasus."

She sat back and thought about the things she'd just said. Her discovery this afternoon might just change everything. Once the database translation project was complete, she might be free to return to off-world missions. Some of the things she had dreamed about when she entered the Stargate program could still happen.

"That was obvious." He smiled slightly and shook his head. "You mind if we, ah, turn around and face the fire? I'm freezing." He was hunched over, hugging himself with his hands tucked into his armpits.

She nodded, reluctant to relinquish the view of the moons. She wanted to watch them track across the sky, but swung her legs over the bench to face the fire because she wanted to talk to Rodney more. "I think I saw some blankets over there, would you like me to go get one?"

He seemed to think about it, then said, "No, no. I'm fine." He spread his hands out to the fire and rubbed them together. "That's much better. So, ah, you and Carson—destined to be an item?" He was studying her.

"What? Why would you ask that?"

"What do you mean? He's obviously smitten with you. Even I can see it. Katie thinks so too. He calls you 'love' every other sentence. He hangs on your every word." He smirked. "It's so quaint."

"He's Scots. Doesn't he call everyone that?"

"Not like that," he said sarcastically.

"Damn," she murmured.

She felt unduly saddened by the notion that Carson might be feeling something similar for her that she was feeling for Rodney. It just didn't seem right, or fair. She couldn't have Rodney. Should she just move on, even though she didn't feel any chemistry with Carson? Maybe she would with time? Then she realized that those were the same kinds of arguments she'd had with herself back on Earth when she was in the middle of that last, bewildering relationship and trying to figure out what to do. Settling could have disastrous results. Better to be a spinster.

"It's only one date," she said and kicked at something in the dirt, her brow furrowing. She felt like crying.

"What, that's a problem? He's a nice guy, you know. You could do a lot worse." He seemed irritated.

Her cup was almost empty and a young girl came by to refill it. "I know. It's not that. It's just. . ." She paused, searching for something to say that wouldn't reveal too much. A thought burbled up in her brain and she gasped with laughter, "It's like A Midsummer Night's Dream! I'm that poor wretch Helena. Carson is Lysander and then there is. . . Demetrius and Hermia, of course. Oh, God, if only it were that simple. If only some fairies would come along and set us all straight." The notion struck her as hilarious and she set down her full cup as she doubled over, shaking with unrestrained amusement. If she didn't laugh, she would surely cry.

"What?" Rodney straightened up and tried to get a good look at her in the light from the fire. "Emily, are you drunk?"

She stifled her laughter and strove for solemnity, feeling disconcerted and sad. "No, no, I'm fine. Just a little Shakespearean humor." She drank deeply. She had felt like celebrating earlier. Now she just wanted to drown out the confusion and pain.

He looked unsure. She watched him surreptitiously as he turned his gaze to the fire. He looked so utterly appealing in the light of the fire—the shadows burnishing the stark contrast of his features, his rugged chin, his broad, square shoulders, slightly hunched as he leaned into the warmth of the blaze. She couldn't see the color of his extraordinary eyes in this light, but she knew they were a lovely light blue. His personality was hard and his mind was sharp. She liked the way he'd been looking at her, like he was off-balance, not certain. She wanted him to be thinking about her.

They sat there in uncomfortable silence for a time. She felt like she should say something to rekindle the conversation, but she couldn't think of anything to say so she sat there drinking the wine and suddenly realized with surprise that the cup was already nearly empty again. She was feeling a little strange, a little lighter and looser, definitely giddy. She stole another glance at him. He was frowning into the fire, obviously thinking hard about something, looking so unhappy. She hated to see him that way.

There was a question, burning in her mind, that she had to know the answer to. There were faint warning bells going off in her brain, but the urge to ask was so strong, she felt powerless to stop herself from asking softly, "Rodney, are you. . . really serious about Katie?" There. She'd said it. That was harmless enough, wasn't it? It wasn't really that different from the question he'd just asked her, now, was it?

"What? I don't know. Where's that coming from?" He looked at her searchingly.

All caution seemed to be gone now. Her spinning wheels were gaining ground. Thoughts she'd been harboring, mulling over endlessly, started spilling out without heed. The warning bells had gone silent. "Well, you can't seriously think you'll be happy with her. I mean, does she even know the real you? Has she seen your temper? Does she know how neurotic you are?" He looked shocked and she narrowed her eyes, sure she knew the truth and that he needed to hear it. "Let me guess, you're always on your best behavior when you're with her? What—do you think you'll change for her? You can try, but your fundamental nature is, well, fundamental for a reason. You can't turn yourself into someone else for her."

"You don't know Katie. She's kind. She's good. You can't have spent more than an hour with her—"

How could someone so smart be so stupid? It made her angry. He needed to see the truth. "You're right. I don't know her, but I know her type. She's nice, Rodney. Too damn nice. She's a Pollyanna. You would make her miserable and she'll never be enough for you. Let her find some wholesome, clean-cut, man-boy so they can go off and make their giddily-happy, Brady Bunch babies. Don't you think you should be with someone who has a fighting chance of keeping up with you?"

The look on his face was sheer horror. "You are out of line," he said angrily and started to rise to walk away but she reached out and pulled him back. He sagged back onto the bench, looking at her with stunned disbelief.

She turned to him and put her forehead on his shoulder, the full realization of what she had just said, sinking in. She was shocked by her own temerity. How could she have broken such a taboo? "Oh, Rodney, I'm so, so, so sorry. I've said too much. I didn't mean to say those hurtful things." She was clutching at his jacket, the fabric twisting in her hand. "I should have told you why I came to Atlantis the moment I came through the gate. It would have been really, really weird, but at least it would have been honest. I'm really, really sorry. Just, just, ignore everything I just said."

"Emily? What the—" Carson spoke from beside them. Emily started guiltily at the sound of his voice. She had to be the worst date ever.

Rodney spread his hands and looked bewildered, "She's drunk, Carson. It hit her really fast and she's not making any sense."

"Damn. I told her to be careful with the wine," Carson muttered.

"She's pretty far gone. I think you better take her back to Atlantis and put her to bed," Rodney advised.

Carson gently pulled her off of Rodney and brought her to her feet. She didn't resist. She just squeezed Rodney's arm before she let go and sent him an anguished look. She turned to Carson, patted his face, and said sadly, "Oh, Carson, sweet, dear, Carson. Do we really have to go?"

"I'm afraid so." He seemed concerned and decisive. He drew her to the edge of the firelight, the track up the hill to the Stargate looming in front of them.

"Dr. Beckett, Dr. Beckett—" Someone came running up and grabbed Carson's arm, saying breathlessly, "A child got too near one of the cooking fires and was burned. Will you please come help?"

"Oh, bloody hell," Carson muttered. "Rodney, will you please take her back to the gate for me? I should tend to this. It could be serious. She seems willing enough to go."

Rodney looked uncertain. "Oh. Ok. Sure."

"Thanks. I know she'll be in good hands." Carson hurried off with the Athosian who had come looking for him.

Rodney roughly grabbed the cup of wine from her hand and set it on a nearby bench. "That's enough wine for you. Let's go." He awkwardly put an arm around her back to keep her steady.

Sheppard came over to see what was going on. "Need some help, there, Rodney?"

"No. Just taking her back to the gate. I guess the wine hit her pretty hard," Rodney answered, sounding resigned.

Emily shook her head, trying clear it, and tugged on her jacket to straighten it. "I'm fine. . . really. I won't drink any more. I want to stay."

"No, no. Let's go." Rodney was urging her forward.

She felt a small wave of nausea and dizziness and mumbled, "Please, oh, please don't let me puke on him when we go through the gate." She grabbed his arm in fear and covered her mouth. "Oh, crap. I didn't mean to say that out loud." She was completely losing control. She had to get ahold of herself before something even worse happened.

Sheppard called after them, "Good times. Reminds me of back in college."

"Well, maybe for you," Rodney retorted. He wasn't being very gentle. He was clearly angry.

As they left the settlement, the air cooled and helped clear her head. The exercise seemed to be helping too. She gently disengaged herself from his grasp to walk on her own. He didn't say anything. He just started walking faster and she struggled to keep up with him.

"I'm truly sorry, Rodney. Please, just let me explain."

He still wouldn't say anything, wouldn't even glance her way.

"I know I was out of line. You're right to be angry," she called after him as he got slightly ahead of her. He didn't respond. How could she fix this? "I'm really sorry. I don't know what happened. I normally can hold my own with anyone." She trailed off and slowed down, out of breath, knowing it was pointless. He didn't want to hear what she had to say and she didn't blame him.

After a few more moments of oppressive silence, she stopped moving. She sank onto a fallen log at the tree line to catch her breath and let him go on without her.

He came back and stood before her, looking supremely annoyed. "You're a terrible drunk, you know that? You really shouldn't touch the stuff." After a few moments she realized he'd sat down nearby when he said, softly, "Man, why did you have to say all that stuff about me and Katie?"

He looked utterly miserable, staring up at the twin moons.

"Its not like a girl like you would ever want to be with someone like me."

Her heart was pounding. She felt sick with fear but his words gave her hope. She scooted over the rough bark of the fallen log until she was next to him, but he remained unmoving, looking down at his feet. She mustered all of her meager courage and reached out tentatively, extending a shaky hand to turn his face toward her. She searched his eyes, wide with surprise, and said, "You couldn't be more wrong." Then she leaned in and kissed him softly, briefly, and pulled back to see what his reaction would be. He hadn't returned the kiss, but he hadn't pushed her away either.

"Really?" He sounded surprised.

"Yes, Rodney. Really." She thought maybe he might kiss her again, for real this time. She tried begging him with her eyes and leaning in a little suggestively.

"What about Carson?" His eyes were wide, searching her face.

She gave up on the kiss and looked down. "If Carson is interested in me, then I feel bad about that."

"Are you still drunk?" He asked suspiciously.

That hurt, but she knew she deserved it. "No. I'm not." She glanced at him. He seemed to be confused and thoughtful. "I meant to kiss you. I mean, I wanted to and I won't regret it tomorrow. . . except that. . . Oh, crap, I'm sorry. I know it was wrong. . . because of you and Katie." She winced. This was definitely not how she imagined this might happen.

They sat in silence for a few moments. He seemed to be lost in thought. She searched for something to say but nothing sounded right. She could tell he was getting cold again but she didn't want to move because she was afraid this might be the only moment she would ever get to be this close to him and, selfishly, she didn't want it to end.

Finally she said, "Rodney, is it possible to see the future, do you think? Maybe, um, just little pieces of it, like a fragment or something?"

His eyebrows drew together. "What? No."

"Well, I took physics as an undergraduate, but I wouldn't say I ever had a very good grasp of the concepts. It's so esoteric, really, isn't it? But recently I've been doing a lot of thinking about something. I guess, I thought. . . maybe. . . you would know."

He looked perplexed. "Well, maybe if we lived in a mechanical, Newtonian universe. I guess if you knew enough variables, you could possibly predict an outcome. But we don't. Quantum mechanics blows that out of the water. There are just too many variables to contemplate. There's no way to predict anything."

She shook her head. "But I'm not talking about guessing an outcome, or predicting what will happen next. I'm not planning on betting on horses at the track. I'm talking about these theories like, well. . . link theory—and I've read a little bit about something called the block universe model, based on Einstein's special theory of relativity, where both past and future events already exist in space-time—which means we are talking about absolute futures, not possible ones, doesn't it?"

He scratched an eyebrow and shot her a suspicious look. "But that's just absurd. The future is an effect and can't exist without cause. You have to use common sense, Emily. You're assuming a lot of things that can't be quantified—like that time is an actual real dimension on its own instead of a linear progression inversely linked with space. I doubt there are many physicists who would agree to that. What have you been reading? A bunch of philosophical mumbo-jumbo?"

She sighed, feeling despair rising inside. Why was the universe so cruel? If it couldn't be true, why did he have to be the one to tell her so? She should have asked Colonel Carter or Dr. Lee this question before leaving Earth. "I googled it," she said softly.

He huffed. "Well, that was your first mistake." He was hugging himself again, against the cold.

She sent him what she knew must have been a desperate look. "But there are so many things we don't understand. Alternate realities and alternate timelines exist—even time travel itself. You—you've seen that first hand with Dr. Weir's double that you found in the city. These things have been documented. We know that they're true. Why is it so hard to imagine that somehow a glimpse of the future could be seen?"

He frowned. "We guessed that alternate realities existed based on quantum mechanics, Emily. It's there in the math. Alternate timelines are more problematic but can fit within that model, I suppose. Precognition though, is just fantasy. Why are you so interested in that?"

"I. . . It's complicated. I just—" She looked at him again. He seemed genuinely curious. Maybe if she just couched it the right way she could explain it to him and he would understand. Even if it wasn't real, whatever it had been, it had brought her there for a reason, hadn't it? "Let's say someone has hypothetically caught a glimpse of something that looks very much like the future—just assume for the moment that it really is possible. I mean, there are supposed to be millions of alternate realities where every possible outcome is played out, right? So, I guess that even if you saw a glimpse of the future, it could be that it might not even be your own, right? But what if it could be? What if you could try to make it happen? What if it looked so good to you that you couldn't help yourself from trying to get there?"

"That's just another very good argument for why seeing the future isn't possible. There are just too many possible alternates." He sounded perplexed. He was trying to search her face in the faint light from the pale moons.

She felt like she was grasping at straws, trying to make sense out of nonsense. "Ok, but what about all the Emily Freedmans who went to Atlantis—wouldn't it be like a branch on a tree? They would all start in the same place, but those who went to Atlantis would all be heading in basically the same direction, right?"

"Well, maybe, but it's far more complex than that. To use your metaphor, everyone else's branch is intersecting with hers and all of their various decisions are changing her environment and the decisions all the various Emilys would be making." He was playing along, but he continued to look quizzical.

"Do you think that maybe it's possible that two people, two branches, could be destined to intersect? Maybe people are destined to spend some part of their life together?" she asked hopefully.

"I doubt it. Look, what's this about? Are you sure you aren't still drunk?" His eyes were roving over her face.

Hadn't she known in her heart that he would answer that way? Why was she torturing herself like this? What was she really doing? "No, really, I'm fine." She felt so tired, suddenly, and incredibly sad. "There are some things. . . that I guess I'd like to tell you someday. . . but. . . I just can't yet."

It wasn't the right time. Maybe never would be. He looked so skeptical. There was no way he would believe her now. She couldn't tell what he was thinking exactly, but all the stupid things she'd said and done tonight weren't improving his opinion of her, that was for sure. Some part of her was feeling a little scared that she had just ruined everything forever. Even after twenty-five years this still might not work out the way it was supposed to.

"Emily, you aren't making a lot of sense. Enough with the cryptic stuff already. You have something to say, just say it." His voice had taken a hard edge. It made her feel a little panicky.

"I'd rather not. You'll think I'm crazy," she said quietly, pleadingly.

"And I don't now? What—you think I'm just going to drop Katie and we're magically going to have some great relationship?" he said harshly. Then he softened a bit, "I barely know you, Emily—I like you. I do. But. . . I don't know what to think right now." He seemed hurt and confused.

She felt sick.

He stood up and started pacing on the path, then stopped and shot her an uneasy look, saying, "Maybe you should consider talking to Dr. Heightmeyer. Is this a problem you have when you drink?"

Tears were streaming down her face and she couldn't stop them. This was going so wrong. How could she have made such a monumental mistake? There was a huge lump in her throat. She tried to say something, but nothing would come out.

"Did someone put you up to this?" He seemed to be angry again.

"What? Rodney, no! How could you say that? Please, don't be angry. Let me try to explain what happened to me, what has me so screwed up." She could hear her own voice breaking and she felt utterly humiliated. It was over. He was suspicious of her motives because she'd been drunk and had said so many stupid and confusing things. It seemed clear he wasn't interested in her in the slightest. She had just made a complete fool of herself.

"Save it. I'm cold and I'm walking back to the gate now, with or without you." He had his hands plunged in his pockets and he stood there, stiffly, with a dark look on his face.

She stood wearily and jumped with dismay. She could see movement behind Rodney. "Someone's coming," she whispered and pulled the sleeves of her jacket over her hands and swiped at her face.

Rodney turned and folded his arms, glowering down the path, waiting to see who it would be. It was Carson.

"Well, hello, there. I would've thought you'd be snug in your beds by now. Everything ok?"

She looked at Rodney. He was glaring at her, stone-faced, not speaking. "We just stopped. . ." she struggled for a moment to get the words out, the white lie she wanted to tell not coming easily to her lips, ". . . for a rest here. It's a beautiful night. The moons. . . are lovely," she said, gesturing half-heartedly at the moons that were large and bright in the sky.

Carson glanced at the moons, but approached her, looking concerned. "So, you're feeling better, now, aye? That's good."

"Yes, my head cleared with the exercise and the cool air. I'm sorry if I worried you. I didn't think, well, I suppose I underestimated the strength of the wine, even though you warned me. I'm very sorry. I regret drinking it now," she said bitterly, not able to look at either of them.

"Don't worry about it, love. We all have a story or two to tell about the Rhus wine, I can assure you. Don't we Rodney?"

A snide "Hm," was all Rodney would say on the matter.

She struggled to bring the conversation around to less shaky ground. She couldn't bring herself to burn her last bridge with Carson—as terrible as that sounded in her own head. She had already lost too much and needed to keep his friendly face close. "I hope your patient is ok, Carson. It must have been minor. It hasn't been long."

"Oh, yes, nothing major. He'll be right as rain in a few days."

They walked back to the gate in silence. She tried to catch Rodney's eye, but he wouldn't even look at her. This trip through the gate wasn't as easy as earlier in the day. Carson took ahold of her arm so she didn't fall when the dizziness momentarily overtook her. It passed quickly. She had a headache, but she was pretty sure that wasn't from the gate.

When she shook off the vertigo, Rodney was already gone and Carson escorted her to her quarters. He seemed hesitant at her door, but she just pecked him on the cheek, said goodnight, and quickly went inside. She went straight to bed and curled up into a ball, trying desperately not to think about how badly she had just screwed up.


	12. Chapter 12 paenitet regret

Rodney stalked the corridors of the city, trying to clear his head. Could she really be sincere? Had he already ruined his chance with her by being suspicious? He cursed. He knew why he'd been suspicious. He just didn't want to remember the humiliation Jenny McGrath had dealt him when he'd been seventeen and gullible. But surely Emily wouldn't do something like that. Oh, God, what if he'd hurt her feelings? He wanted to find her quarters and go ask her to explain herself better, but she was on a goddamn date with Carson and he might still be there.

Oh, God, and Katie. She was right about Katie. He was fooling himself if he thought they could be happy. Katie didn't have a clue what she'd be getting herself into. He kept himself on eggshells around her, trying so hard to be a gentleman. He couldn't maintain that forever. He needed to be with someone who could see past his flaws, who understood him, who would challenge him when he was wrong. Someone like Emily. He groaned.

He would sleep on it tonight, but he was pretty sure he was going to go find Katie tomorrow and break it off. That would be a first. As for Emily, he wasn't sure what to do next. Maybe he should just give her a little space and then go visit her some evening when she was working late. She always worked late. No one would be around and they could talk. She was easy to talk to. It would be ok. If he hadn't scared her off. He grimaced at that thought.

And what about Carson? She seemed surprised and disturbed to hear that Carson was really into her. How could that be a surprise? He shook his head. Things could get touchy between him and Carson if this really turned out to be something. But, like she said, it had only been one date. He ran his hand over his face and kept walking, trying to make sure he was thinking it all through logically, replaying every conversation he'd ever had with her, trying to gain some insight into her confession.

Tomatoes popped into his brain and he grinned. Emily covered in tomato pulp with half her clothes torn off. God, he would pay money to see that. She was so full of surprises. He never knew what she would say or do next. But what was all that stuff about alternate realities and seeing the future? That was really strange. She was so insistent, so. . . desperate. She seemed so upset. She said there was something she wanted to tell him, something that had screwed her up. Damn. He should have let her explain.

He stopped short and realized he had wandered right to his lab. Maybe some work would help him put some of these thoughts to rest so he would be able to sleep tonight. He went in and found everyone had gone except Zelenka who was working at a laptop, sipping coffee from a travel mug.

He didn't acknowledge Radek, just picked up where he had left off, working on the device he was repairing before he went to New Athos.

Radek looked up, "Oh, hey, how was the feast?"

Rodney didn't answer at first, but realized Radek was staring at him. "It was food," he said with as much surliness as he could muster.

"Did Emily have a good time? You know, she doesn't get out of her lab much. I'm a little worried about her. She doesn't have any friends here and all she does is work, sometimes fourteen to sixteen hour days or more."

"I'm sure I don't know," he lied. She clearly was having a great time until she confessed she was interested in him and he shot her down, like a fool. He thought about how she'd been laughing and joking with the Athosians, her hair blowing in the breeze, looking even wilder than usual. She'd looked so happy, so vibrant. He groaned out loud, then tried to cover it by making it look like a component wasn't fitting like it should.

"I've been working on minimizing power consumption of the ZPM—" Radek started to say.

"Still working on that?" Rodney cut in sarcastically.

"I've run into a couple of snags. There is a lab that is powered up in a flooded section of the city. It seems the Ancients must have turned it on. I cannot get it to shut down remotely. There is also a power relay station that's showing some fluctuating readings and I can't figure out why. It's overall consumption is slightly higher than normal, so we'll need to take it apart and make repairs."

Rodney came over to look at Radek's laptop, "Let me see," he said with annoyance. "It's probably a damaged crystal. We'll take care of it tomorrow morning. As far as the lab that's using power, I'll shut it down remotely the next time I have a rotation in the control room."

"I've been trying to shut it down from here and it isn't responding," Radek offered.

"That's why I said I would do it from the control room," Rodney grit out and went back to repairing the device.

"Everything ok?" Radek ventured.

"Why?"

"You seem even more tense than usual," Zelenka said dryly.

Rodney rolled his eyes.

"Just an observation. Maybe you should get some more sleep. Emily isn't the only one who works too much," Radek commented.

"Thank you for your sage advice. You going to come sing me a lullaby?"

Radek held up his hands. "Ok, I'm done. See you in the morning."

Rodney ignored Radek as he left. As soon as he was out of sight he sagged onto a stool and closed his eyes. Why, oh, why was he such a screw-up? He needed answers. Surely Carson would be gone by now, unless. . . . He felt a little sick.

He couldn't help himself. He looked up the location of her quarters in the expedition log. It was in a section of the city he hadn't spent much time in. He didn't know they were assigning quarters there now. Maybe he would just go see where they were. It would be a harmless walk to clear his head so he could sleep.

* * *

He stood in front of her door. There was no one in the hallway. He thought about ringing the chime. She might already be asleep or Carson might still be in there, maybe talking or something? He couldn't contemplate anything else. How would he explain his presence to Carson? He thought hard for an excuse, but he couldn't think of anything plausible.

He glanced up and down the hallway. No one was around. The corridor was clear. He cautiously stepped forward and put his ear to the door, his mouth agape, his eyes wide, knowing he shouldn't. He couldn't hear anything. Except, wait, what was that muffled sound? Crying? Oh, God, was she crying? He went for the chime but stopped himself just before making contact. What if he was wrong? What if she and Carson were. . . no, no, no, no, no—he couldn't think about that.

He backed away, confused and conflicted. He started walking again, arguing with himself about what to do next. He should just go to bed, but he'd never sleep with all these things caroming around in his head. He found himself at a junction. To go right would take him back toward his quarters; to go left would lead straight to the infirmary. After a moment's hesitation, he headed left. It wouldn't hurt to see if Carson had stopped in there tonight. He could easily come up with a reason to ask. He and Carson were friends after all.

Rodney wandered into the infirmary, the lights incredibly bright compared to the corridors. He squinted and looked around. There wasn't anyone in sight. He felt foolish, but ventured a quiet, "Hello?"

"Yes?"

Someone answered from behind him, making him jump. He whirled to see Carson standing there and felt flooded with relief. "Oh, Carson, it's you. You surprised me."

"Ok." Carson looked mildly skeptical.

"Um, I was just going for a walk because I can't sleep." He gestured at the doorway to the infirmary. "How's Emily? She ok?"

"She seemed fine when I dropped her off at her quarters. A little woozy after going through the gate, but she shook it off and seemed fine. Why?"

"Oh, so, you just dropped her off at her quarters, then?" Rodney asked, trying to look indifferent.

"Yes." Carson looked more skeptical now. "Why are you here?"

"Oh, I can't sleep, so I was walking. I do that sometimes. Just walk and walk and walk until I can, uh, sleep, you know?"

"Do you want a sedative, Rodney?"

"Ah, no, not really." He hesitated. "Maybe. Yes? I think I would, actually. Could I have a sedative?" He didn't think he would sleep tonight without one.

"Are you feeling alright, Rodney?" Carson came closer and peered at him.

"Yes. It's just that I've been having some trouble sleeping. Been working a lot of hours. Too many, I think." Thank you, Zelenka, for putting that idea in my head, he thought fervently.

"Ok." Carson went to a cabinet, unlocked it and pulled out a large bottle. He shook a pill into his hand. "Take this now and by the time you get back to your quarters, you'll be ready for a good sleep." Carson went over to a sink and got a cup of water and handed them to him.

Rodney hesitated. "Oh, you think I should take this now?"

"Yes. I thought you wanted to go to sleep?" Carson was looking impatient.

"Yes, yes. Of course." He took the pill and swallowed it, then handed the cup back to Carson. "Ok, well, I should go do that now, I guess." He motioned toward the door and started walking.

"Goodnight!" Carson called after him.

Rodney was already out of sight, so he didn't reply. He made a beeline for Emily's quarters and found himself hesitating in front of her door once again. The corridor was still quiet, so he pressed his ear to the door, but this time he didn't hear anything. He looked at his watch. It was really late. She might already be asleep. He sagged against the door. He was already feeling the effect of the drug Carson had given him.

"Dammit!" he cursed quietly. If he rang her chime now, he might wake her and he wasn't going to be in the frame of mind to be talking and making sense any time soon. He should have just given an excuse and taken the pill with him. He patted the door gently like a silent promise that he would be back and reluctantly turned away, to drudge back to his own quarters, where he collapsed in a heap and slept a deep, dreamless sleep.


	13. Chapter 13 agonia agony

It was a long night. By dawn, Emily was wide awake, starving, and sick of her own company. She took some tablets for the headache she'd been fighting all night, showered and dressed, but couldn't do anything about her red-rimmed, puffy eyes. She intended to hide out in her lab all day, buried in work.

She arrived in the mess just after it opened. Relieved to see that she would be alone, she sat down with her breakfast in a corner, facing away from the rest of the room. But that relief was short-lived when Teyla approached with a tray and joined her.

"Good morning, Emily. I do not usually see you here so early," Teyla said brightly. Then upon getting a good look at Emily, she looked troubled, "Are you feeling well, Emily?"

Emily tried to avoid her gaze, "I'm fine. Good morning."

"Did you enjoy the feast? I am sorry—I did not see you leave." Teyla smiled and arranged her napkin.

Emily smiled back tremulously. "I did. Your people made me feel so welcome. I'd really like to spend more time with them—learn more about your culture, your history. It occurred to me—perhaps I could go to Athos, your original home world, and see if there is anything left there that could be recorded for future generations. There must be something left in the ruins?"

"It is my understanding that there is very little left to see, but perhaps with your expertise, we might find some things. You would do us a great honor to attempt such an endeavor." Teyla nodded respectfully, smiling, but then assessed her frankly. "Is something wrong, Emily?"

The question caught her off guard and she blurted out, "Teyla, what is in the Rhus wine? It has to be more than just alcohol. It. . . affected me. . . in a very. . . strange. . . way."

Teyla looked concerned and took a sip of her coffee. "How so?"

"Well, at first I just felt really relaxed and happy and then I—" What could she say? "—then I said some things—things I wouldn't normally say."

"It is strong," Teyla said with a mischievous smile.

"No. no." Emily shook her head emphatically, wincing at the sudden pain that caused. "I'm no stranger to strong drink. I'll admit, clearly, I did drink too much, but. . . I've never lost the ability to hold my tongue before. I was just saying everything that came into my head. I couldn't seem to stop myself."

Teyla was thoughtful. "Some worlds call the Rhus wine, 'truth-wine.' I am not aware of what ingredients may make it unique in that respect. It is my understanding that on occasion people are affected this way if they have consumed. . . a larger amount. Among my people it is considered an infrequent, comical side effect, nothing more, since we are not ones to harbor secrets. Surely this is not the cause of your distress?"

Emily looked away. A tear trembled on her lashes and she tried to discretely dash it away. _Truth wine? Really? _ This galaxy was cursed. She didn't belong here. The damn device showed her what to avoid, but her life was still going to hell.

"Emily?" Teyla looked very concerned now.

"I. . . I said some really. . . despicable things to Dr. McKay—cruel things—and. . . I'm sure he was hurt. I know he's angry. I. . . just can't believe they came out of my mouth. I don't know how to fix this. I'm just going to have to live with it, I guess."

Teyla looked thoughtful and sipped her orange juice. "But they were your true thoughts?"

Emily shoved the scrambled eggs around on her tray. "Unfortunately, yes."

"Maybe some good can come of it. Honesty is always best." But even as she said the words, Teyla looked somewhat doubtful.

Emily sighed and took a small bite of a dry bagel. "Not in this case, I'm afraid."

"Dr. McKay seems to be aware that he does, at times, rub people the wrong way. He can be a difficult man to. . . collaborate with, on occasion, but overall he is a good person, doing his best with the tools that he has."

"I. . . I know that. That's not what this is about." She put the bagel back on her tray. It tasted like sawdust in her mouth.

"Is there something I can do to help? Perhaps if I explain to Rodney about the wine?" she offered, looking kind and sincere.

Emily shuddered. "No. Please don't. Surely it will blow over. It's just going to be miserable until it does."

Teyla nodded and looked sympathetic. After a few moments she smiled again and asked, "How did it go with Carson, last night?"

"Oh." Emily pushed her tray aside and put a hand to her forehead, propping herself up on one elbow. "That's miserable, too." She looked at her food. It looked so unappetizing. She reached for her coffee and took a sip.

"I do not understand. Why would it be miserable?"

"Because. . . Carson. . . . I just thought he was being friendly when he asked me to go to the feast, but Rodney insists that Carson. . . has developed. . . ." she trailed off, not sure what to say.

"An interest in you? That may be accurate. You do not feel the same way?"

"I. . . wish I did—I really do. . . but, I just. . . don't."

"Do you intend to address this?" Teyla picked up a piece of toast and chewed thoughtfully.

"Honestly, Teyla, I don't have a clue how I would do that. At the rate I'm going now? I'm afraid to open my mouth. Dr. McKay is my boss. Dealing with him is going to be a nightmare now. Carson is the chief of medicine. What if I need medical attention at some point? Can I really afford to have two of the base's senior staff actively uncomfortable with my presence here? I mean, I might as well just pack up and go back to Earth! For now, I think the best I can do is. . . avoidance until I can sort things out."

"I see," Teyla said, looking up. She gave Emily a subtle look of warning before saying, "Good morning, Carson."

Emily's eyes bulged and she choked on her coffee.

"Good morning, ladies. How are you feeling this morning, Emily, after your adventure with the Rhus wine last night?"

Emily just grimaced in reply.

"Dog's breakfast, then? Can't say as I'm surprised. Strong coffee should help and plenty of fluids, of course." He smiled kindly.

Emily nodded. "Thank you. Please excuse me. I need to get to work. Teyla. Carson." She grabbed her tray and left.

* * *

She spent the next several days holed up in her lab, only dashing out briefly when necessary to retrieve a tray from the mess. The only people she saw were Graden and Neumann, and she interacted with them minimally. She knew she was punishing herself, that she was being ridiculous, but she felt stupid and hurt and didn't know how else to deal with it.

She wondered how long she could keep up this hermit-like existence. It would have to do indefinitely, she supposed. Her desire to avoid both Rodney and Carson was strong. If they wanted to see her, they would have to come to her—and she would prefer that they didn't, for now, at least.

A few days into this hermitage, her radio echoed with Radek's voice directing her to a lab in a part of the city that had, until recently, been flooded. Emily arrived to find the hallways littered with water-soaked lounge chairs and standing water on the floor. The air was heavy with moisture and mildew. She picked her way through the debris to find Radek working at a console in the lab.

"Radek? What's going on? You need my help with something?"

"Emily—yes. I could use your help. I need a second opinion. There's been an accident. Have you heard?"

"What? No. What happened?"

"We aren't sure yet. That's why I asked you down here. I just got power to part of this console to access this lab's research logs. What do you make of this?" He activated the console, projecting its data onto the wall.

Emily stepped onto the platform with Radek and peered at the display curiously. She laid her hands on the section of the console meant for data retrieval, quickly scrolling through pages of information. "Well, there seems to be a lot of medical jargon, referring to genetics. . . ." She clicked on the translucent keys to activate the main menu and found the introduction.

"Yes, that's what I thought. What is the device meant to do?" Radek asked.

Emily frowned, reading. "There's a vast amount of information. The introduction states. . . it's intended to accelerate human evolution at a molecular level." She scrolled through some more. "It seems. . . the device activates dormant DNA and sets a series of genetic changes in motion that are intended to result in ascension." She scrolled down. "That's just the beginning of the introduction. There is much, much more here. This could really take some time to go through," she said, glancing quizzically at Radek. "You said there was an accident? Was someone exposed to this device? Because if they were, this could be very, very bad."

Radek nodded, stepped down from the console, and activated his radio. "Dr. Weir?"

In her own earpiece, Emily heard Dr. Weir's answer, "Yes, Radek?"

"I've got Dr. Freedman down in the lab, the site of the accident. I realize Dr. Beckett said there were no evident effects from Rodney's exposure to the device, but we have reason to believe it may be far more serious than we thought."

"Ok. I'll meet you there in a few minutes. The rescue team just returned. I'm heading to the jumper bay now to see how they fared. Weir out."

Radek turned back to her. "Major Lorne's team was in some trouble and Sheppard's team went to help them out," he explained.

"Dr. McKay was exposed to this device?" she asked weakly.

"Yes, it was quite dramatic. As you can see, there's a lot of damage. There were beams of light, sparks flying everywhere. After the device activated, there was an overload of some kind. I'm still isolating the source." He continued to work on the console as he spoke.

"But he's ok? You said Dr. Beckett gave him a clean bill of health?"

"So far, yes. But, maybe you'd better keep reading?"

"Of course, of course," she replied and turned back to the console again.

By the time Dr. Weir arrived, Emily had been able to read through more of the introduction, but hadn't gleaned much new information, thanks to the Ancients' habitual long-windedness combined with a frustrating tendency to omit critical details. Dr. Weir's expression was serious as Emily recounted what she had learned so far.

"Just before you came in, I came across a passage about how these genetic changes manifest themselves. It seems the subjects develop extraordinary abilities. I haven't learned yet what these might be. There's a lot of information here. It'll take days to read it all."

"Based on what I've just seen, they're some pretty spectacular and disturbing abilities," Weir commented. "Set aside anything else you're working on, for now. We need you to read through this thing quickly and pick out the important parts. Let's meet back here in twenty-four hours to go over the details you've uncovered and the progress Dr. Zelenka has made, unless you come up with something pretty significant before then." Dr. Weir started to exit the room.

Radek looked suspicious. "Dr. Weir? What disturbing abilities is Rodney displaying?"

Weir turned and looked reluctant to say. She raised her eyebrows and said, "More sensitive hearing, increased cognitive ability, and telekinesis."

Emily did a double take, looking from Dr. Weir to Radek in confusion, "Did you just say telekinesis?"

Dr. Weir tilted her head to the side, pressing her lips together. "I'm afraid so. I'm going to check on Rodney now, in the infirmary."

Emily stood there, stunned, while Radek continued to work. "Radek, what happened here?" she asked, steadying herself on the edge of the console.

"What do you think? He was like a bull in a china shop. I told him we should bring you down here with us since we had no idea what this room was for, but he never listens to me. He bet everyone he could turn power to the room off remotely, but failed, and then we came down here with Dr. Esposito and he was just showing off. Now, it looks like he gets to be a superhero. He'll be insufferable now, of course."

"Dr. Esposito? Long, dark hair?" she asked, feeling sick.

"Yes. Really cute." Radek smiled to himself. When he noticed Emily's serious look, he composed himself, but she got the gist.

"Can the data from this console be downloaded to a laptop, or tablet, or do I need to work here? I'll work fastest in my lab."

"I've already downloaded it for you on this tablet. Please, keep me informed of any technical information that will be useful."

She took the tablet from him and turned to go. "Of course—I'll flag those areas of the text and go through them with you line by line, ok?"

He nodded and went back to work. She headed back to her lab, her mind swirling with uncomfortable thoughts. Knowing what she thought she knew about the future—a future where she felt fairly certain Rodney did not posses telekinetic powers—was she to assume that he would survive this, be returned to normal, or would this go horribly wrong and would she have to blame herself for changing the timeline? Would this have happened if she weren't here? If it would have happened anyway, then that was heartening—he would find a way out of it.

But if her presence in Atlantis had somehow changed something. . . . Bradbury's butterfly effect. That was a horrifying thought. If only she had stayed focused on her goals, had not accepted a date from Carson, had not gone to New Athos—then she never would have said those things to Rodney and he might have accepted Radek's suggestion of bringing her down to the submerged lab—where she would have prevented this from happening. That thought made her feel physically ill. She had no way of knowing. There was no way to tell which scenario was the right one. She wouldn't know, would she, until it was all over.

Emily sat down with a sandwich and began to read, with reference materials close at hand, each passage more disturbing than the last. She worked well into the night, giving in to rest for only a few hours, before returning again to the seat at her desk with steaming coffee and a bagel early the next morning.

It was shortly after Neumann and Graden arrived and began work on the other side of the room, that she pushed back her chair and contacted Dr. Weir by radio. She agreed to meet her, Radek, Carson, Rodney and Colonel Sheppard in the submerged lab to brief them on what she had learned about the device and to relay technical and medical information to them. Emily felt sick, wondering how she was going to tell them what she had learned with Rodney standing there.

* * *

Dr. Weir called the impromptu meeting to order, even though Rodney had not yet arrived. "What have you found, Dr. Freedman?"

She looked at them gravely, feeling disconnected and strange. The lights in the lab kept flickering, sometimes going out for seconds at a time, which added to the sensation of unreality. "It isn't good. I've only scratched the surface, but you need to know. . . ." She looked down at the tablet. She was clasping it to her with both hands, so they wouldn't see them shaking. "Of course I will read it all and look for something, anything that will. . . save him."

Dr. Weir frowned. "What is it?"

She told herself to focus, to be professional. "The device targets introns—sections of DNA that aren't normally expressed in humans. They are there, normally dormant, and are transcribed by RNA in the decoding process, but are never translated into proteins. When activated by the device, this normally dormant DNA combines with our regularly expressed DNA in new and evolving combinations, resulting in many new proteins and enzymes that humans don't normally posses. This gives way to the advanced abilities—like telekinesis, enhanced sensory perception, extra-sensory perception, enhanced cognitive ability, agility, speed, strength, healing, . . . precognition."

Emily swallowed thickly, trying not to dwell on that new insight the Ancients had provided her—at least not now. "It's a long list. The abilities are quite variable from individual to individual, dependent on what unique combination of DNA sequences they have inherited."

"He's just developed mind-reading." Dr. Weir commented, her arms folded, looking resigned.

Emily gaped at her for a moment, then regained her composure and continued, "During normal human evolution this dormant DNA is sometimes incorporated as a random mutation, which is why we hear rumors of humans with these abilities on Earth, I suppose. As humans reach their evolutionary apex, however, these genes are naturally turned on—like the people Colonel Sheppard met on the planet with the time dilation field, before they ascended. The Ancients studied people with these mutations and became aware that intron expression was part of the key to ascension, along with a very important mental component." She paused. The lights had just gone out. After a moment they came back on again.

Dr. Weir nodded, urging her to continue.

"The Ancients found a way to turn introns on with this device, but it didn't go the way they hoped. To begin with, a small subset of their test subjects died within hours. The novel proteins that were formed from the newly expressed DNA were lethal to those individuals. Some of the introns, they posited, were not meant to be turned on, but they weren't certain which ones those were."

Emily took a deep breath to steel herself. "The volunteers that survived the initial exposure, expressed the genes with high variability. Some advanced very little, others had amazing lists of powers, but that had little bearing on their chances of ascension. Over the course of just a few days, the gene expression caused their physical bodies to. . . break down. If they did not achieve the proper mental state required, or if some other unforeseen complication arose, they. . . simply. . . died. Seventy-two percent of those that survived the initial exposure to the device died before achieving ascension." She furrowed her brow and looked away from the shocked faces of the others.

"Oh my God," Carson whispered.

She looked down at the tablet. "So far, I can find no reference to reversing the process. Obviously, that was not their goal. They focused on refining the process before they finally abandoned the experiment because the war with the Wraith greatly diminished the availability of volunteers. I do have some technical things to share with you Radek, if you are ready to go over them, and I can stop by the infirmary to go over the medical data with you, Carson, when I've finished."

Dr. Weir nodded assent then gestured to Sheppard. "I think we'd better go talk to Rodney."

Emily began to go line by line through the technical data with Radek. It was obvious quickly, however, that his grasp of Ancient vocabulary, with respects to these technical passages, was on par with, or exceeded, her own. The power continued to go off and on while they talked, inspiring Radek to burst out in Czech curses. He said that Rodney was trying to re-configure the systems that control power distribution to make them more efficient. The result was system-wide power fluctuations.

"Why is he doing this now?" Radek asked her. "He's burying his head in the sand. Why isn't he down here helping us try to figure this out? This is driving me nuts. I cannot work under these conditions."

"Try to be patient, Radek. He's trying to distract himself, I think. He's embracing the gifts. . . and doesn't want to think about what the consequences might be. He'll come around after Dr. Weir talks to him."

Radek frowned. "Maybe, but it sounds like he doesn't have much time."

She touched his arm lightly. "We know that. But he doesn't yet, does he? Look, I don't think you really need my help with this. If you have a problem with a word or two, call on the radio. I'll get an answer for you in minutes, if I can. I think Dr. Beckett probably needs my help more than you do—agreed?"

He nodded and downloaded the sections she had flagged for him. She left the lab and headed down the corridor toward a transporter. As she moved, she began to feel a strange tingling sensation and every hair on her body seemed to be standing on end. She saw a blue flash in her peripheral vision. There was a metallic scent, like something shorting out, hanging in the air. She stopped in her tracks and reached for her radio.

"Radek! Something is happening in the corridor—" She turned to go back to the lab, feeling panic rising. Her arms and legs were tingling to the point of pain. She gasped, stumbling. The hallway behind her was alive with crackling electricity. She turned again, tensed to run, hearing Radek's voice echoing in her ear. A bolt of electricity coursed through her. She felt pain, beyond comprehension, and then nothing at all.


	14. Chapter 14 collisio shock

She awoke, gasping for breath. Her thoughts were scattered, slow. She hurt. She felt. . . cold and clammy. . . except for a warmth that was slowly spreading through her abdomen, tracing tunnels of warmth throughout her body. The warmth was driving something away, something. . . terrifying and. . . painful. She shuddered against it, but it seemed to be nearly gone. She opened heavy-lidded eyes, squinting against bright light, and Rodney came into focus, standing over her, his eyes closed, concentrating. What was happening? She tried to ask, but couldn't manage a sound. She watched him, transfixed, realizing he was the source of the warmth.

She heard a voice saying softly, "Heart rate good. Breathing steady. Pulse is good."

Rodney looked down and met her questioning gaze, his warm hands still resting on her stomach. He looked guilty, afraid, as he lifted his hands and backed away. "Emily. . . oh, God. . . I'm so sorry," he said, and, turning, fled from the room.

"Wait!" she called after him weakly, and tried to sit up, but couldn't manage to. "What's happening?" she asked, her voice coming out as a rasping whisper.

Carson came into view looking terribly worried. "Prepare the scanner," he told someone.

She turned her head. She was on a bed in the infirmary. Something terrible had happened to her. People she didn't know were pressing cold instruments against her skin, pushing an IV needle into her arm. Dr. Weir returned her gaze with a look of astonishment. Colonel Sheppard stood next to Weir, looking uncomfortable, not meeting her eyes.

She looked down at herself and gasped, panicked mortification giving her fingers a boost of energy to pull at the gaping front of her shirt to cover herself. Her bra seemed to be intact, at least, a padded bra, splashed with absurdly colorful flowers. It, and her uniform shirt, were scorched and the shirt had been cut up the middle. She fumbled with shaking fingers, tugging on the fabric. A nurse quietly laid a sheet over her, stilling her action. She relaxed a little and sent the nurse a grateful look. "Will someone please tell me what just happened?" she demanded. Why did everyone look so bewildered?

Dr. Weir stepped closer to the foot of the bed. "How are you feeling, Dr. Freedman?"

"I don't know. Just a few minutes ago, I would have said I felt like death warmed over, but suddenly I. . . don't feel so bad."

Carson stepped into her field of vision. "Well, that's about right, Emily. You were clinically dead, just a few moments ago."

She blinked at him, comprehension taking interminably long moments to sink in. "There was. . . electricity in the corridor."

"Yes, you're lucky to be alive. You took a jolt of unknown voltage." Carson seemed distracted, worried.

Why weren't they explaining? Rodney had done something. He'd been there and left. He was distressed. "And. . . Rodney. . . manifested a new ability? He healed me? Like the little girl in the time dilation field that you met." She turned her gaze back to Colonel Sheppard.

He nodded confirmation.

She frowned, thinking about that, about him. After long moments she mustered the strength to say, "The text said. . . the healing ability is very hard on the individual. Someone should go after him. Make sure he's ok. . . ." she trailed off. Sheppard exchanged glances with Dr. Weir, nodded, and left the infirmary.

She felt a surge of panic as she remembered Radek—he might have come after her. She'd called for him on the radio. She looked around wildly. "Radek? Is Radek ok?"

"I'm here," he said, emerging from a corner of the room, where he'd been blocked from her view by the nurses and equipment. "No one else was hurt." He looked troubled.

"Oh, good," she breathed and relaxed for a moment. She was feeling stronger, more lucid, as each moment passed, as the last remnants of pain finally dissipated.

Carson came back. "The scanner's ready." At his nod, the nurses pushed the gurney alongside the scanner and before she could do or say anything they lifted the sheet under her, sliding her into place.

"Hold still, please," Carson said, speaking in a level, professional tone.

She closed her eyes and complied, the leaden, drained feeling starting to ebb away.

She heard Carson breathe a sigh of relief as he studied the display attached to the scanning device. "Oh, thank God," he uttered. "The scan is clean. Ok, let's take some blood for a comprehensive panel. We'll cover all the bases here. Make sure we haven't missed anything."

"Can I sit up now?" she asked.

He wasn't taking his eyes off the screen. "Just rest, love. We'll get you into a more comfortable bed in just a moment."

She watched him, frowning, and when he turned away, she sat up, clutching the sheet to her chest, half expecting to feel the blood drain from her head. But she felt remarkably fine. She moved experimentally, sliding her legs over the edge of the scanning table.

"Dr. Freedman?" Dr. Weir moved alongside her. She saw Radek hovering nearby, looking confused.

"Radek? The tablet must have been fried. Would you please get me another?"

Carson turned. "What the bloody hell are you doing, Emily? You've just been through an incredible trauma. You shouldn't be up—"

"Are you sure? Because, I feel fine. I'll submit to whatever testing you think is necessary. But. . . I feel pretty normal. What I really need, right now, is a fresh shirt and a new tablet so I can resume my reading."

"You expect to just go back to work? Emily—are you out of your mind?"

"Well, you have read my file," she muttered. "You just said yourself the scan was clean. You're going to keep me here for observation, right? Would you stop me from reading a novel to pass the time?"

"Let's get her in a bed," he urged the nurses who were waiting nearby for instruction.

They helped her into one of the hospital beds nearby. She felt a little shaky and was glad for their assistance across the room. A nurse took multiple vials of blood from her arm. Another nurse attached a bag of saline to the IV and connected her to a slew of monitoring devices. She could see Carson, Radek and Dr. Weir speaking on the other side of the room. When she saw Radek glance her way, she motioned to him. He and Dr. Weir approached her bedside.

"You were lucky," Radek said. "The corridors being wet may have dissipated the charge, especially once you were in direct contact with the floor."

"You found me? How long was I. . . ?" She couldn't say it. She couldn't have been completely dead, not really, not if Rodney could still heal her and bring her back. She felt so normal. It just didn't seem real—didn't seem possible.

"Just a few minutes. I performed CPR and the medical team was fast." He looked completely disconcerted.

"Thank you, Radek." She smiled at him and took his hand, squeezing her appreciation. Then she leaned back and snorted softly with amusement. "They teased me, before I left Earth, that I'd better watch out—that I'd be Atlantis' Daniel Jackson. I laughed it off at the time. I thought I'd be safe on the base—never going off-world, nothing would happen to me. I never thought. . . ."

Dr. Weir spoke up. "It was an accident. I'm sorry Dr. Freedman—I feel responsible. Dr. McKay was in the control chair, in the middle of something clearly vital, when we came in to tell him the news you'd given us. He read our thoughts. Before we knew what was happening, things got away from him—for a moment. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"You couldn't have known this would happen. He must be. . . completely overwhelmed." She looked directly at Weir. "I gather I wouldn't have survived this if he hadn't been here, hadn't developed this ability."

Weir frowned and looked down.

Carson emerged from behind her, looking at readings on a small device. Clearly discomfited, he spoke frankly, "It's highly unlikely. There wasn't time to fully assess the damage, but it was clearly severe."

She sighed and closed her eyes. It seemed more like a bad dream than reality. She was glad to be alive, obviously, but this. . . well, it was just another level of weirdness to hang between them, one more stumbling block in the way to keep the dream from ever happening. Ever. She should never have come to Atlantis.

She pushed herself up. There was no sense in dwelling on either of those things. She had work to do. She had to try to help save him—she owed him that at least. "Please, Radek. Bring me another tablet with the text on it."

He looked to Dr. Weir for guidance. Carson was frowning.

Dr. Weir spoke up. "Dr. Freedman, I will clear my calendar, do the research myself. I realize my grasp of the language isn't anywhere near what—"

"Dr. Weir, I mean no disrespect, but this is why I'm here. This is what I do, who I am. I'm fine. I can read, I assure you. It isn't that taxing for me."

"Emily, you need to recover—"

"Carson, he just saved my life! Do you really think I'm just going to sit here? I'm not going to do crossword puzzles, for crying out loud. Let me do something meaningful, dammit!" She closed her eyes and took a breath. When she opened them, they looked shocked at her outburst and she cringed with contrition. "I'm sorry. I just—I can't sit here and do nothing when I know he's dying. There might be something in that text that could help him and I'm the only person that's truly qualified to find it!"

Carson didn't look happy about it, but he nodded at Radek. Radek left and Dr. Weir lingered a few minutes more before leaving as well. Carson continued to order tests and scans and Emily submitted without complaint. Shortly after lunch, Radek appeared with another tablet and a few of the reference books from her lab. She settled in and got back to work.

Hours went by, but she paid little heed to what was happening around her. Someone set a tray at the foot of her bed, but she ignored it. She wasn't hungry. All that mattered was finding it—that elusive detail that would save him.

* * *

Rodney resisted the urge to send the laptop crashing into the Ancient console. He was thrumming with exhausted energy and barely able to keep himself in check. He could find no way to reprogram the damn thing to reverse the process, even in this advanced cognitive state. He and Radek had been at it for hours, running simulations, poring over the technical information Emily had isolated about the device. It was hopeless. It just wasn't meant to be used this way.

It was a stark fact and he had to come to terms with it: he was a dead man.

He'd never have a chance to find out what Emily had wanted to tell him on New Athos. How could he go to her now when he'd be gone forever in a matter of days? He was an idiot when it came to women, but even he knew that would be selfish and cruel.

At least he'd managed to save her. The accident was just another personal failure and it gripped him in his bowels when he thought about it, how close he'd come to killing her. That bright smile might have been extinguished forever, if he hadn't gotten there—barely—in time.

None of that mattered now. He had work to do. So many ideas—he could barely sleep more than minutes at a time and only then when his body sagged with fatigue and he couldn't concentrate anymore. His mind was churning with insights, adrenaline pumping through him with each new mental discovery. He had to record them, for posterity's sake. Someday, people would know him as a very great man. They would study his work with awe at what he'd accomplished in such a short time. That would have to keep him going until the bitter end.


	15. Chapter 15 ascensio ascension

People seemed to be very concerned for her well being. They kept checking on her. All the interruptions were frustrating. After a while she began to wonder if Rodney didn't have the right idea—a little irascibility could come in handy from time to time.

Carson couldn't find anything to hold her in the infirmary for more than 24 hours and she was glad to return to the lab and focus, get some real work done. She wondered briefly how Rodney was feeling, what he was going through, how he was coping. Were his friends supportive or were they jeering at him even now? His reaction in the infirmary haunted her. There'd been something in his eyes. She wanted to believe that. . . there was more to it than just saving a co-worker. Did he view it as saving someone he cared about, a friend perhaps? Could he have forgiven her for her drunken, thoughtless words? But there was no time to find out, even if she had the courage to ask. She had to focus. It felt like the weight of the world was on her brain. She was desperate for time to stand still so she could read every word of this immense set of documents and garner the information he needed to survive.

She awoke the next morning when Radek came in. She had fallen asleep, seated, her head propped on her arm next to the tablet, a small pool of drool dampening her sleeve. She wiped her mouth self-consciously. "Radek? What time is it?" She put a hand to the back of her neck and tried cautiously to stretch her neck.

"It's early. I'm sorry I woke you. I wanted to know if you have any more technical data to show me."

"Yes. I do." She stood, trying not to groan at the stiffness in her muscles. "Let me just get a drink of water and I'll show you what I've got."

"How about some coffee? Two sweeteners and a splash of milk?" He held out a stainless steel mug that was still steaming.

That caught her by surprise. "That's just what I need, thank you." She found her radio stuck in the back of her hair, put it back on her ear, then took the coffee, eyeing Radek with some wariness. She was fairly sure he was checking up on her. But that wasn't all bad, she supposed. It was nice to know people cared.

"Emily, are you sure you're ok to work? I would think you would want to get some rest, after what happened? Did you sleep at all last night?"

She returned his gaze gravely. "Of course I did. You just woke me, didn't you? Besides, sleep is overrated. Rodney saved my life. I'm going to do everything in my power to help save him," she said with conviction.

He nodded and shrugged. "I would do the same thing, in your place."

She spent the next couple of days and nights working, pausing only to brief Carson and Radek on any information that might help. Neumann and Graden brought her coffee. Radek brought her meals. She ate what she could while remaining focused on the text. Carson stopped by several times to discuss the medical data and to argue with her about getting some rest and she told him in no uncertain terms that she would sleep when she was dead. Of course she longed to go back to her quarters and surrender to sleep, but knew that if she gave into the urge, she'd likely be out for a day and she couldn't risk it. There was too much at stake. So she stayed in the lab, where she dozed off occasionally, but the activity going on around her helped to keep her alert and on task. She completely lost any sense of time, ignoring fatigue and any other discomfort. Late in the afternoon on the third day, Rodney stepped into the lab and quietly cleared his throat.

She felt like her heart stopped. She stood, but didn't otherwise move. Seconds went by as they stared at each other.

Finally, he said, "So, you know I can—" He gestured to his head and then to hers.

"Yes." She felt breathless.

"I'm trying to block it out, but it's hard." He was nodding, looking uneasy. "So, you're working on translations."

"Of the research logs from the ascension device, yes." She took a step toward him, saying, "Thank you—"

Meanwhile, he also came forward, saying, "I'm sorry about—"

They both paused, disconcerted, waiting for the other to finish. But neither of them did.

Finally, she said, "I don't blame you. It was just an accident."

"That's what John and Elizabeth said," he said quietly. He wasn't looking at her, not really, and she didn't know what to make of that.

She spoke firmly, "You should listen to them. They're not wrong."

"What was it like?" he asked, some melange of emotion briefly passing over his features.

"Ah. . . well, it hardly seems real to me. I didn't see the mythic white light or my dead loved ones, though that would have been nice." She swallowed, not sure what else to say. "It was just like I was asleep and. . . woke from a terrible dream. Thank you. . . for bringing me back."

He nodded and looked down, clearing his throat. "Would you expect to see those things?"

"No. Not really."

He sniffed, nodding again, and seemed to come to himself, like he just remembered his purpose in being there. He held a thumb drive in his hand and crossed the room to hand it to her. "This is your translation software. It's done. I hope it's everything you wanted it to be. If there are any bugs, Zelenka should be able to help with that," he said softly.

She took the thumb drive numbly, then realized what he was doing. "Rodney, why are you working on this now? Why aren't you working to solve this? I know you could, if you only try! Dr. Weir told me you're doing all kinds of breakthrough work. I know how tempting that must be for you. But you can do that later," she pleaded.

He shrugged and looked uncomfortable. "I want to leave something behind. I don't want to be. . . ."

"Forgotten? Are you kidding me? Don't say that! Don't give up like that! Damn it!" Anger flared inside her and she wanted to unleash it. Her resistance was low from the overwhelming fatigue. She balled her hands into fists and turned away, screeching, "I want to throw something so bad!" She cast around, looking for something handy to grab.

"Why don't you?"

She turned back to him. _Damn it. _ He looked amused. "All my good throwing stuff is still back on Earth, damn it!"

He was grinning.

A strangled laugh burst from her.

"You look tired," he said.

She was shocked that he would notice, or care. "I've been working around the clock." She reached up and ran a hand through her hair. It was drooping from days without care. She knew she looked, and probably smelled, awful.

He took a step closer to her. "You should take some time off. You're going to get sick."

"I don't care," she said quietly and sank onto a stool. Her heart pounded painfully in her chest. "I'm sorry for what I said. It was childish. Stupid and cruel. I shouldn't have said any of it."

"No. It was the truth. It doesn't matter," he said gruffly, still not meeting her eyes.

He seemed resigned. He'd already given up. She could see it in his calm, determined expression, that he was trying to be brave in the face of certain doom. There wasn't any hope left in his eyes. But, she knew things he didn't know. If he knew those things he might try harder to find a solution.

She didn't know why she'd had the dreams, didn't know their purpose, for sure. What if she was supposed to share it? What if she'd gotten the wrong impression? What if it wasn't really about a relationship at all? What if this moment was what was important? She ached to tell him, but, at the same time. . . there was the fear. But if she could just change his mind. . . wouldn't the hope she could provide be worth the risk?

She rose. "Rodney, I know that this might sound strange but. . . I know that you will survive this." She filled her voice with surety, conviction.

He looked surprised. "How can you be so sure?"

"You. . . haven't developed any precognitive abilities, have you?" She hesitated, watching him closely.

He shook his head, looking perplexed.

"Of course not," she spat out bitterly. "That would be the one ability you wouldn't get."

His expression had already changed. He took a step closer, watching her, looking wary but intrigued.

"I need to tell you something." Her chest hurt. Her fingers tingled. _Where did all the air_ _go_, she wondered vaguely. "This isn't easy for me," she said weakly, trying to maintain her resolve.

"Emily?"

"I. . . dammit! Just look. In here." She gestured to her forehead. "I'll show you something that will prove it to you. Just—let me concentrate."

She knew he could hear thoughts. She didn't know if he could see images. He was obviously curious, so she pushed all other thought aside and, closing her eyes, concentrated on the dream of him—the vision the alien device had given her that had her chasing her fate into another galaxy. She focused all her mental energy on bringing every detail vividly to life and let it play out fully. Finally, she breathed, releasing a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, and opened her eyes.

He sat down heavily on a stool left at a nearby workstation. "What the hell was that?" His eyes were wide with surprise and disbelief.

She took a step closer to him, poring over his expression. "You could see it?"

He was slack-jawed with shock. "Yeah. It was like a memory. But we were. . . old. You and me. . . together? How could you. . .? Where did you. . . ? What _was_ that?" He fixed her with an intensely inquisitive gaze.

She swallowed down her fear. "A device. On Earth. Not of Ancient design—from another very old civilization in the Milky Way. It gave me a series of visions of my future in the form of repetitive dreams. That was just one of them. It left some kind of imprint on my mind, leading me here."

"To me?" he rasped. His eyes, still wide with amazement, searched her face.

She nodded reluctantly, feeling shame and dishonor heat and color her face.

He gestured toward her limply, his look solemn. "Your, ah, feelings are. . . incredibly strong in this. . . memory."

She looked away, embarrassed. She should have stopped the memory before it reached its emotional conclusion. He didn't need to know about that. She was just so tired. "I know. I. . . know. Basically, the device showed me that my life, back on Earth, was on the verge of. . . plunging into profound sadness. It made me rethink everything about my life there. It also showed me that there would be a distant future, with. . . you, that would be. . . good. I know it was naive, crazy, idiotic. I didn't think it through—didn't know how to think it through. I was so curious. I just. . . I. . . thought I might try to skip the sadness and go straight toward the happiness." She glanced at him. He was watching her avidly. "But when I got here—"

"I was with Katie." He shook his head, his brow furrowed, but didn't take his eyes off of her.

She leaned against the bench wearily, trying to sound dispassionate, objective. "So, I decided to skip relationships altogether—to just bury myself in my work and try to put it behind me. I know this is weird. I'm not fishing for something. You have something here. I get that. I'm not going to stalk you. I never intended to breathe a word of it to you, I swear. On New Athos—I wasn't in my right mind. If I hadn't drunk the wine I never, ever, would have said those things, never would have presumed. I'll always regret that I lost control like that. I'm sorry."

"Teyla told me about the wine this morning when we had tea," he said absently, clearly deep in thought.

"Oh." God, she felt so tired. How was she going to keep reading after he was gone? She hesitated. She had to say more, so he wouldn't get the wrong idea, so he would understand. "Maybe I should have kept this to myself. I touched the device. It's my burden. You just. . . you need to know it's not necessarily over. I. . . I'm not telling you this because I. . . expect anything from you. . . . I just—I thought you should know there's hope."

"I'm sorry, Emily, but this doesn't change anything." He wasn't looking at her anymore.

"What?" She took a step toward him, wanting to shake him, to make him understand. "Yes, it does. Isn't it obvious? You survive this. Before I decided whether or not to come to Atlantis, the Ancients turned the device on in that lab. Whether I had come here or not, you would have gone in there to turn it off. You—you're still going to be alive twenty-five years from now, Rodney. You survive this!"

He looked frustrated. "But it's already changed. That memory isn't going to happen. You aren't the person who suffered some terrible thing and then met me—that older version of me."

_Dammit!_ He wasn't supposed to clue into that part of the problem. She was actively trying not to think about it in case he was listening. The man was really just too damn smart!

Her anger flared again. "My timeline has changed, obviously. But yours hasn't! You haven't changed at all. You're still a smug son-of-a-bitch who thinks he knows better than anyone else. And you're a defeatist. And a damn pessimist. And I'm going to make you pay when we get your sorry ass out of this. Now go, so I can get back to work!" She stomped and pointed vehemently at the door.

He smiled and his eyes. . . smoldered?

_Was she seeing things now? God, she needed to sleep._

"Now that. Was hot," he said, in a very provocative way.

Her heart was thumping wildly in her chest. She couldn't help it. She had to smile back. What was happening?

He came close and hesitantly picked up her hand. He looked bashful. "I hope you're right," he said softly, scanning her face.

She couldn't manage to say anything. Couldn't even think. She was mesmerized by his eyes. _He must have the most compelling, expressive eyes of any man who has ever walked_, she thought.

He gently pulled her closer and put his chin on top of her head, hugging her briefly, then backed away. "I'm, ah, late for a meeting with Sheppard to practice meditating." He thumbed toward the door, a sad smile on his face, then purposefully strode away.

She stood there, staring blankly at the door for a moment. Then she realized she felt more mentally clear than she had for hours and she shouldn't be wasting it. She turned and saw Neumann and Graden scrambling to act like they weren't watching, like they'd been obliviously working all along. She felt her face flame again as she sank back into the chair at her desk. She'd forgotten they were there. She pulled the tablet closer and resumed reading.

Some time later, Radek came in. His face was drawn. He sat down wearily and pulled the glasses off his face. "Someone just came down to the ascension lab and told me Rodney collapsed in Colonel Sheppard's quarters. He's in the infirmary now, Emily. There's nothing more to be done. Do you pray?"

"But I just spoke to him an hour ago. . . ."

"I know. He came to see me too. He was very nice."

"No! We have to do something! We can't give up, Radek. Here, let me show you this." She grabbed at the tablet, but he put a hand over hers.

"I doubt it will make a difference now," he said gently.

Tears of disbelief streamed down her face. Radek began to pray aloud softly in Czech but she didn't listen. She wanted to stand up and scream at him to get his ass back in that lab and keep working. Instead, she just stared at the tablet.

Finally, she picked it up and kept reading. There was nothing else to do. No other way to help him. She didn't know how to pray or ask for help or tell someone she was hurting. How could she tell Radek that this might be her fault—that she was so selfish and reckless that she had tampered with a timeline and caused this? He would hate her for the loss of McKay, who was so clearly needed here. She didn't deserve his friendship, or anyone else's.

She would finish the database project. . . because they needed it, and then she would leave Atlantis, leave the SGC, and bury herself in something, somewhere, where her presence wouldn't change anything for anyone.

She went back to the case reports, the innumerable case reports, more than seventy percent of which concluded with the sickening words _voluntarus mortiae_—the volunteer died. She pressed her fingers to her lips. Maybe something would jump out at her. Time was passing so slowly now. She wouldn't stop until someone came to say what happened. She swiped at her face with her hands and kept working.

Suddenly Radek was jumping up, touching his radio, talking to someone. Not hearing anything, she felt for her own radio and found it tangled in her curls again. She cursed and put it in place. Carson's voice was barking orders at Radek, who was already scrambling out the door. Emily raced after him. He darted into one of the small, auxiliary science labs and made a beeline for a large, dismantled device, grabbing a tool nearby to hurriedly disassemble some component. As she came closer she recognized it as the somatic fertility device. She thought it was in storage, but someone had it torn apart, pieces of it strewn all over the bench.

"Radek? What's happening?"

"Rodney just told Dr. Beckett how to save him. I have to reprogram the device," he said urgently as he sped past her. Then he spun, went back to the bench, and grabbed a few more things. He beckoned her closer and pressed a few tools into her hands. She juggling the tools awkwardly, looking around for someone to help. But no one else was there. Radek was already out the door, tearing down the hall to a transporter. She followed.

"I know exactly what to do. The technical information you gave me on the device was just what I needed to know," he assured her as he impatiently waited for her in the transporter. He tapped the screen and they flashed to the new location.

He was instantly out the door, calling over his shoulder, "You can help me by reordering some of the crystals, so it will go faster. They are sending one of Rodney's old blood samples as a baseline. They are barely keeping him alive. We will have to work fast. Thank God I repaired everything in that room!"

She stumbled awkwardly down the hall to the ascension lab behind Radek who was nimbly darting around the obstacles in the way. He obviously had a little more practice coping in stressful situations like these. She ignored feelings of raw terror as they hurried past the spot where she had been electrocuted days before and tried to keep her thoughts on the task at hand.

When they got to the ascension lab, Radek handed her a rolled up piece of felted material. Then he showed her a column of crystals and told her to take them all out, lay them on the felt, and reverse their order. She carefully did as he said, cursing her fingers for trembling. He got busy at the console, making adjustments, reorienting crystals, and attaching the part he had taken from the somatic fertility device to the underside of the console

Moments later, Dr. Weir and Teyla arrived, carrying a very small plastic tube of clear liquid with small white strands floating in it. Dr. Weir explained that it was DNA that had been extracted moments earlier from Rodney's baseline blood sample. Radek took the tube, poured the contents into a vial, loaded that into the component from the fertility device, and continued to work.

She heard Carson's voice over the radio, "We're _en route_. His pulse is very weak. Are you ready?"

Dr. Weir replied, "We will be," and approached Radek at the console.

"Almost." Radek said. He finished making final adjustments, checked Emily's work and nodded.

She could hear them barreling down the hall with a gurney. She heard Carson's voice shouting orders. They stopped outside the door. She heard Carson say, "Right. Hurry. He can't breathe on his own."

Emily backed into a corner of the room as Ronon came in carrying Rodney's unconscious body and laid him on the platform. She pressed her fingertips to her lips to smother a gasp of dismay. His eyes were sunken and dark.

Radek called out, "Stand back!" He activated something on his tablet and the lighting in the room changed dramatically. A swirl of blue light snaked around Rodney's body, then dissipated. A moment later Rodney awoke as if he'd been laying there sleeping, instead of hovering in the space between life and death. He was talking, answering questions. He stood up, incredulous and smiling. He was fine.

Emily leaned against the wall in relief. She watched as Ronon hugged Rodney and all his close friends gathered around him. Carson was taking his pulse and blood pressure. Her own heart rate slowed and she gradually became aware again of just how exhausted she was.

Dr. Weir came to stand next to her and sent her a quizzical look. "I understand the only sleep you've had for the last few days has been snatched at your desk. After what you experienced just a few days ago, no one expected that level of commitment from you. You should take a couple of days and get some rest, Dr. Freedman."

Emily nodded gratefully, coming to her senses. "I think you're right," she said. Casting her eyes down, she moved for the door.

Some people were lingering. Others were starting to leave. She could hear Carson urging Rodney to come back to the infirmary for tests and Rodney arguing back that he felt fine. She smiled to herself. That had been her, three days ago. Or was it four? She was halfway down the first hall when someone called her name. She turned, frowning, and let someone pass. It was Rodney. He was following her out in the hall.

"Rodney!" Carson protested.

"Just a minute, ok? Then you can poke and scan me all you want," he said over his shoulder with exasperation. Then he turned to her. "Hey, Emily, you going to go get some food and some sleep?" He looked euphoric. She didn't blame him. Funny. She'd nearly died a few days ago, herself. Pity she didn't feel the same way. And now? Too tired.

She nodded wearily, smiling at his exuberance. It was good to see him look happy for a change.

"Oh, ok, good, good. I'll, ah, see you tomorrow, then, ok?"

"Sure," she said and turned away. He was being kind. He was grateful to be alive, after all. She breathed a heavy sigh as she plodded to the transporter, too tired to get worked up when she passed the site of the accident from the week before.

He survived. That was good. Atlantis needed him. She hadn't changed that for the worst anyway. She didn't know how she could have handled the guilt if things hadn't turned out this way.

Maybe she should leave though. Finish the database project and go back to Earth. She could so easily go into interpreting. Then she wouldn't have to think at all, just repeat words other people thought of. It would be boring, easy, but not dangerous in the slightest if she chose the right geographic location to work from. She could develop a clientele, make a comfortable life. She would never have to touch another unpredictable artifact. She could travel again, reconnect with people she knew from her language acquisition days. They probably thought she had fallen off the face of the Earth. Little did they know—she actually had.

She sighed as she trudged the last few paces to her quarters. She was feeling maudlin from lack of sleep and waves of too many emotions. No time to make decisions. Right now she just needed to pass out for twelve hours. . . or longer. No one would notice—they were all wrapped up in McKay's miraculous survival for now, as they should be. She was hungry, but it didn't matter. Sleep was far more pressing. She climbed on the bed, not bothering to even remove her shoes. She wondered, briefly, if she had remembered to lock the door. _Oh, who cares,_ she thought, as she shut her eyes. _Let the Wraith come get me. I won't even notice._

* * *

Rodney frowned. He was stuck in the infirmary, bored and hungry, while Carson flitted around ordering tests, scanning him, and poking him with various things. He was trying to be patient, but it wasn't easy. He felt fine. He was itching to get back into his lab and start looking over all the things he'd been working on over the past few days. A lot of the details were fuzzy, indistinct, and he really needed to go see it for himself.

And then there was Emily. All the strange, seemingly incoherent things she'd said on New Athos that he had puzzled over for days seemed to make sense now. All the smiles, the warmth, the furtive, intense looks really were for him—he hadn't imagined them. He cleared his throat as it constricted a bit from emotion and his eyes darted around the busy room.

He had walked into her lab to satisfy his own curiosity, because of what he'd been told she'd been doing, and to try to say goodbye to her somehow, like he had done with his friends. He hadn't anticipated the surprises she had in store for him. Maybe he should have, he thought with a wry smile.

The real surprise, though, was the memory. He shifted on the bed and frowned. A memory of the future. He didn't know how or why it was possible—and how could he question anything, given what he'd just been through? He did know it was real to her. She hadn't imagined it, just like she hadn't imagined the trip through the intergalactic space. He'd heard her thoughts as she accessed it and recreated it. It was from months ago, before they met, before she left Earth. It both frightened her and gave her hope. He felt her feelings in the memory and they were crippling in their intensity.

He could sense that she knew it wasn't real, only a possibility. Her mind seemed to grapple with it, what it really meant. He found himself feeling the same way. He rubbed a hand over his face. It looked good, that future, really good. He wondered what he would have done in her place, if he had tried to interact with her with that kind of stuff in his head—he doubted he could have managed so well.

But that was the memory. Her own feelings were separate from that and as they had spoken in her lab, those had come through loud and clear as well. He'd tried not to listen in on her, but it was too tempting and he was weak. Her thoughts were chaotic and fleeting, likely due to exhaustion, but her feelings were crystal clear and hearing them was humbling. He closed his eyes feeling the corner of his mouth turn up. She was attracted to him, physically. She actually liked his gruffness, liked his personality, was impressed with his mind. She longed to spend time with him. He'd gotten all that in mere seconds from her.

She was incredibly complex and intelligent, but he hadn't needed to read her mind to know that. She didn't know how much he liked her. She thought he had rejected her. He hadn't been able to clear that up entirely. He couldn't do that to her knowing he'd been about to perish. He'd wanted to be selfish—to snatch her up and kiss her senseless, like some kind of feral beast. He'd heard thoughts flicker through her mind—thoughts that he needed comforting—and damn if he didn't want to let her do that too. But, ultimately, he stayed strong. It was kinder that way.

He wondered if he knew too much. He wished he hadn't eavesdropped on her so long. It had been so tantalizing to hear those kinds of thoughts in someone else. Considering how noisy, miserable, mundane—even painful—everyone else's thoughts were, hers had been like an oasis and he'd gotten completely caught up in them and found them hard to pull away from.

He took a deep breath and let it out. He wished he could be with her now. Just sitting in the same room with her would be enough. He hoped that she had eaten something and gone to bed, though. It was clear she hadn't done either in days. All that, after she'd nearly died herself. That was his fault. He'd nearly killed her and would never have known any of this. The thought made him feel sick. But she had forgiven even that. Didn't care. There were no recriminations, only kindness and understanding.

Oh, God, how did he get this lucky? He didn't know where they would go from here, how things would play out after all this, but he hoped it would be good. If it could be only a fraction of what he'd seen in that memory, it would be spectacular.

Carson was scanning him again, looking distracted.

"Any chance I can get some food? I'm starving here."

"It's on its way," Carson said, concentrating on the readings he was taking.

"How much longer is this going to take?"

Carson sighed. "You nearly died, Rodney. I should think you would want us to be sure every blessed organ is functioning as it should before I release you."

Rodney held up his hands. "I know. I know. I just have things to do."

"It can wait." Carson gave him a stern look.

"How's Emily?" Rodney ventured. It was strange asking Carson that, but he wasn't exactly sure what had been going on between him and Emily. There was a lot Carson didn't know.

"Oh, I don't know. I hope she's finally getting some decent sleep. Blast, if I could convince her to eat or sleep the last few days. She's bloody stubborn, that one."

"Yeah. I heard that. Why didn't you, you know, make her?" he asked uneasily.

"I tried. Here in the infirmary was one thing. But short of sending in Marines to hold her down so I could inject a sedative. . . ." He was shaking his head.

"She refused?" he asked, wrinkling his brow.

"She got bloody angry if anyone suggested she do anything but look at that damn tablet computer." He raised his eyebrows and shook his head. "She has a temper, that one."

"She takes her work very seriously."

"Bordering on insanely seriously. She was sure there was something in the database that would help you. It seemed to drive her mad that she couldn't find anything. She's been living on coffee and just a few bites of food here and there for days. Radek was the only one who could get her to eat anything. She was bloody obsessed."

"Hm," Rodney said, avoiding Carson's gaze. Carson didn't know how close he was to the truth. She'd been desperate when he'd seen her. It had been painful to see, yet. . . strangely comforting, to know she cared that much.

"Hm—indeed. Open your mouth." Carson peered inside and then stuck a thermometer in his mouth. "When this beeps you can have your tray." Carson tilted his head to indicate the bedside table where someone had just placed a tray.

Rodney nodded and waited patiently.


	16. Chapter 16 spes hope

Emily awoke, slowly, painfully, to the sound of Carson's voice urging her to wake up. Her body felt cramped from inactivity and the light was painfully bright. Her fingers searched frantically for the blanket and she pulled it over her head.

"Leave me alone," was her muffled reply. She felt sleep dragging her back under until he spoke again.

"Emily, I'm not going to do that. No one's seen you for nearly twenty-four hours. I need to take a look at you. We're worried about you."

"Let me be. I want to sleep. I deserve it," she mumbled. She thought she might still be in the same position that she laid down in. How long had she been asleep? She wanted to stretch her taut muscles. She sensed Carson was perched on the edge of the bed and she was tempted to shove him off with her foot.

"Sorry. Not going to do that." He grabbed her hand and poked a fingertip with something sharp.

"Ow! Goddamn it, Carson!" She struggled to clear the fog from her brain. She felt terrible. Why wouldn't he just leave her alone? "Dammit Carson, I stink! I haven't showered or slept for days. You should not be in my quarters. I have a right to my own privacy. If I want to sleep, I will. Now get out!"

She heard a device beeping and Carson sighed. "Her blood sugar is low. Can you check her things for some food?"

She pulled the blanket from her head cautiously and peered out at Carson. "Who are you talking to?"

"There she is. Let's get some food into her," he called out. "Preferably something sweet." Carson was grabbing her arm and wrapping a blood-pressure cuff around it. She felt the painful squeeze as he pumped it up and laid back in defeat.

She heard Rodney's voice from the other room. "There isn't much here, Carson. An apple. A power bar. Oh, here's a sucker. What do you want?" Rodney came in, smiling, holding the food up.

Her eyes bulged as her gaze met Rodney's. He continued to smile as he looked her up and down appreciatively. Her heart was suddenly pounding and she felt a little dizzy. She ripped her arm out of Carson's grasp and scooted back toward the wall, running her fingers through her hair in a vain attempt to smooth it down. She couldn't tear her eyes from Rodney's. He had never looked at her quite that way before. It was disconcerting and definitely arousing.

"What do you want, love?" Carson asked, frowning, his gaze bouncing back and forth between her and Rodney.

"I want you to leave so I can shower! I promise, I'll go to the mess after I get, you know, clean."

"Not good enough. Take the lolly. We'll leave and meet you in the mess within the hour. If you aren't there in an hour, we're coming back," Carson threatened.

Rodney was smirking at her and brought over the sucker. "See you soon?"

She took it from him. "Obviously."

Carson looked at her expectantly, so she fiddled with it until she got it unwrapped and stuck it in her mouth. Then he nodded and he and Rodney left. Rodney waved a funny little merry wave as the door closed behind them. He seemed to be amused. _Dammit._

The second it was closed, she forgot that, and made a break for the power bar he had left on the table. Now that she was completely awake, it was clear—she was ravenous. She gobbled down the power bar and apple, then stuck the sucker back in her mouth while she raced through a shower and the rest of her daily rituals with shaking fingers. She was still hungry, it just wasn't as bad. She threw on some casual clothes, since she'd just slept through the entire work day. Glancing at the clock, she saw thirty-eight minutes had passed since they left. Plenty of time to get to the mess.

They were just setting out the hot meal service for dinner when she arrived. She grabbed a tray, loaded it with food, and headed for the only table that was occupied. Carson and Rodney sat there grinning at her expectantly like two school boys. They both had empty trays in front of them. They'd clearly eaten an early dinner or really late lunch while waiting.

As she sat down, Rodney asked, "So, why were you so grumpy?"

"Must have been the low blood sugar," Carson said with a smile and raised eyebrows.

She ignored them and started to eat. She expected them to leave after she made her appearance, but realized they were waiting for an explanation.

She swallowed, took a sip of coffee, and frowned. "Well, this is something I do, from time to time," she said hesitantly. "It's probably in my file. Sleep seems like such a waste of time, really. So, I don't bother with it too much. But sometimes. . . inevitably. . . I reach a point where. . . well, something just clicks and my brain decides to recapture some of those lost moments." She set down the coffee mug and sighed. "Usually I can't predict when it will happen. This time it seemed unavoidable, of course. Junior year of college, I missed my final exams. That was a problem. Oh, and once I missed a thesis committee meeting because I was sleeping."

"You missed your doctoral defense?" Rodney asked incredulously.

"No. No. My thesis was. . . ambitious. It wasn't the defense I missed." She waved her hand dismissively. "When this happens, I don't hear alarms. Either it resolves on its own or. . . someone has to wake me. I'm fine. No need to worry. The SGC always sent someone to check on me, too." She turned her concentration back to the food, to quell the angry hunger pains still gnawing at her.

"You might have mentioned it, you know," Carson reproved her.

"Sorry. I was. . . preoccupied." She glanced at them uneasily, then asked Carson, "So, does he check out ok?"

"Yes. And I think you do too. I'll leave you two now and get back to work, thank you." Carson left, but Rodney stayed. He had a pleasant expression on his face as he watched her eating.

"That's a lot of food. Sure you can't spare some of that?" Rodney playfully reached out and tried to steal a french fry.

She smacked his hand away and snapped, "Get your own," in a surly tone, but she was pretty sure he caught the smile creeping up on her lips.

"Hm. I'm getting to see a whole new side of you today." He was grinning.

"Holy crap, I was so hungry I think my internal organs started eating each other!" She smiled back before stuffing more food in her mouth.

He laughed out loud and then silently watched her eat. It was odd, she thought. She didn't understand why he was sticking around.

"So you're ok? Really ok?" she asked. Her hunger was finally starting to be satisfied and she was beginning to think more clearly.

"I'm fine. Never better. What about you? You ok?" He actually looked concerned and. . . discomfited. She thought he was probably still feeling guilty about the accident.

"Barely skipped a beat. No aftereffects. Carson seems to be stumped by that."

"Hm. Same here. More like annoyed, actually. The only aftereffect from the ascension device seems to be vexation," he said dryly.

"Vexation?"

"Annoyance, irritation."

She chuckled. "Yes, I know what vexation means, Rodney. I'm curious why?"

"Well, ah, you know, I'm. . . really smart—"

She laughed. "Yes, I know that."

He looked disconcerted. "Well, you are too. . . really, really smart. Ah," he offered and seemed to be trying to find his way back to his train of thought.

"Vexation?"

"Yes. I'm super-smart, but me—with genetic enhancement—well, that was something. Some of the stuff I did is just so far beyond anything I've ever seen before. Really incredible stuff and I'm finding it a bit—"

"Vexing?"

He snorted, amused. "Yes, vexing to try to understand it all. I mean, I created a new form of math—who does that?"

"Dr. Weir mentioned that. She didn't know what it was about. Unification theory?" she asked, slurping down more coffee to wash down the dry burger and fries. She was sure that was directly where a man like him would go, given the opportunity to utilize enhanced mental faculties. She'd known her share of physicists who rambled about quantum mechanics, string theory and relativity, if someone lent them a sympathetic ear.

He looked surprised. "Ah, yes, yes, I think so. I remember I was sure it would revolutionize our understanding of the universe as we know it. I didn't leave myself a lot of clues though. I'm going to be going through all this stuff for a long time, trying to wrap my head around all of it." He was gesturing expansively, managing to look pleased with himself and frustrated at the same time. He frowned. "Some of it, I honestly don't know if I'll ever understand."

She looked at him thoughtfully. "As I was reading the text, I did wonder if perhaps some of our great thinkers were nascent examples of this evolutionary process toward ascension. Perhaps Einstein and Bohr were expressing some of these genes that the device turned on in you? Their theories were so radically different from anything anyone else was doing at the time, you know."

He seemed to consider this, frowning. "Hm."

"So, trying to figure it all out—is it heaven or hell?" she asked, slurping more coffee, trying to head off the tension between her eyes—twenty-four hours without caffeine could be a problem if she didn't catch up.

He paused and thought a moment, shaking his head ruefully. "A little bit of both, actually, I guess. To know that I did those things. Me. But only having sort of a vague memory of doing it. Knowing how important it is, but it being so far beyond me now as to almost be gibberish. Yeah. Both." He shrugged and looked at her thoughtfully.

"It'll be hard work, but you'll figure it out eventually."

"Mm," he said soberly. "I know you worked really hard on the translations for the ascension device. I really appreciate that."

She shook her head and looked back down at her food. "Don't thank me. I didn't find anything that helped. It was completely futile. There wasn't anything there. You solved it yourself, which I fully expected you to do."

He nodded, looking uneasy, and tapped his fingers on the table. She thought he must be impatient to get back to work and she wasn't sure why he had lingered so long, or why he was even there.

"Don't let me keep you. I'm sure you want to get back to your vexing work," she said with a timid smile.

He looked surprised. "Oh, ah, no, no. I think I'm done for the day. Had all the vexation I can take, I think." He smiled at her warmly and she felt a little flutter in her stomach.

She picked nervously at the remaining food on her tray. "What was it like? Can you remember?"

His face animated. "It was pretty cool! Before the whole specter of death showed up, anyway." He shrugged. "Moving things with my mind, though? Oh, man, that was incredible."

"Sounds like every little boys' fantasy—the whole Star Wars force thing, right?"

"Yep. It was a pretty useful skill, too—more than just a parlor trick, I'll tell you. I got pretty good at, ah, controlling it, by the end, too. Couldn't have gotten nearly as much done without it. Can you imagine typing on four or five laptops at once? That was sweet."

She nodded, smiling at his enthusiasm. She guessed that might be a power he would have liked to have kept.

He patted the table and his expression grew serious. "Hearing people's thoughts wasn't much fun, though," he said, shaking his head.

"I can only imagine. I wouldn't want to know what people are thinking about me in real time."

"Exactly. It seemed fun at first, but it wore me down after a while. You can't imagine the mundane, bizarre things people think about. I mean, everybody's thoughts are just. . . crowded. . . with this endless stream of insufferably, boring inanity. Like, Chuck, in the control room? Obsesses over stuff getting stuck in his teeth. Incessantly. Foreman? Worried that his dandruff is showing. And then, you know, everybody's hungry or, or, they're too cold or too warm or they're suffering some other small discomfort." He looked like he was suffering himself, to remember it. He shuddered a little. "And then every single thing they look at or every single person they see has a thought or memory or something attached to it. It was sort of impossible to sift through unless they were looking directly at you and having a conversation. Put two or more people in a room and it was like this cacophony of, of, banality. Very intrusive. I had a hard time shutting it out." He was looking very strange, almost frowning, scanning her face like he wanted to say something more about that.

She gave him a moment, feeling uncomfortable. "You can't do that anymore, right?"

"No, no, no—it's all gone. I'm just me again." He shrugged and looked. . . wistful?

An awkward silence fell. She looked down at her tray. She was nearly done eating and he was still there. Why? She could only conclude that he felt sorry for her or felt some kind of obligation because of what she'd shown him. She shouldn't have burdened him with that. She should have kept her problems to herself. _Dammit._ It was kind of him to be so sweet, but it wasn't healthy for her to keep doing this when she knew it could never come to anything. She needed to just. . . let him off the hook and then maintain some distance from him. It was the only way to stay sane until she could come up with a plan for what to do next.

She frowned, searching for words to say that would do the job without evoking more unnecessary sympathy and making her feel even more pathetic. "Rodney. . . you've been very kind about my. . . problem. But, you don't owe me anything. It might be better if we just avoid each other. I—I don't want your pity. I don't want you to think you have to be nice to me, just because—"

"Whoa. Whoa." He held up his hands to stop her from going on. He was shaking his head, looking perplexed. "There's no pity, Emily. You're so. . . . I mean, there is the, the, the, ah, hotness, of course. . . ."

She blinked.

"That is to say, you're, um, really. . . ." He frowned. He wasn't looking at her anymore. He seemed nervous and the fingers of his right hand were rubbing together in a rhythmic way.

She watched him carefully, sure something was happening, but not certain what that something was.

"And, and—your hair. I mean, I used to think I liked blondes but, ah, now, now, it's just the curls."

She sat up a little straighter.

He smiled briefly, but looked frustrated, and seemed to struggle to say, "I mean, ah, you're really great—really, really smart, and I really enjoy spending time with you. . . ." He trailed off and shot her a pleading look.

"Oh," she said, feeling completely flummoxed. "You're saying you—"

"Like you," he said urgently.

Those two simple words plowed into her and all she could manage to say in return was, "Ok."

He looked relieved. "Yes, well, that's what I wanted to say."

She was mystified. It sounded like a middle school declaration, but she wasn't sure what he actually meant. "Could you clarify that?"

"What do you mean?" He looked taken aback.

"What kind of 'like' are we talking about, here? Friendship-'like'?"

He seemed disconcerted. "Ah, well, no. I was thinking more in the realm of. . . dating-'like'."

She raised her eyebrows. "When did that happen?"

"Oh, ah. . . all along, I guess."

"But you—? Huh." She leaned back in her chair, flabbergasted. Her heart was pounding and she felt a little tingly. "But. . . what about Katie?"

"Oh, yeah. You probably wouldn't know about any of that." He slapped a little tune on the table with his hands and frowned. "The day after the feast, I, uh, kinda broke it off. It wasn't anything serious, anyway. I knew you were right about the whole thing. She, ah, immediately requested transfer back to Earth. I think she left yesterday or the day before. Actually, I'm not sure with everything going on."

"Oh. That's. . . um. . . ." she said and nodded, digesting that information, feeling thrown off-balance. While she had been mourning her terrible mistakes, thinking she had completely ruined any chance she might have to ever be with him, he had been taking steps to make it possible. "Wait a minute. She immediately requested transfer—why? Rodney, what did you say to her?"

His eyes darted around and he looked unsure. "What? I just told her the truth. You know, that I'd. . . met someone else."

"No. Tell me you didn't say that!"

"What? Was I supposed to lie?"

"Yeah, I think so! How would you feel if someone said that to you?"

"Oh. Well. . . someone did, sort of, once. . . so I thought that was. . . . Son of a bitch. What was I supposed to say?"

"I don't know. Something gentle. I mean it's going to suck, right? But. . . maybe something about chemistry or. . . crap. I don't know. This is terrible."

"Why?"

"Well, she—what about her career? Hopefully they'll just find a place for her at the SGC."

"They will. And she'll meet some guy and have Brady Bunch babies, right?" He was smirking again.

She put a hand to her forehead and leaned forward. "Oh, crap. Why did I say that? It sounds so. . . venomous."

"It sounded matter of fact at the time." He shrugged.

"That's not me. Not even on a bad day. I was so. . . ." Dammit, she couldn't bring herself to say it. It sounded so weak and depressing.

She looked at him searchingly. "But what changed?"

"What do you mean?"

She looked around. The mess was still fairly quiet, but wouldn't be for much longer. A line had formed as people trickled in from all over the city. "You were so angry. . . I don't understand. I thought. . . ." She shook her head and looked at him helplessly.

He seemed uncomfortable again. "Well, the things you said were pretty confusing and I thought you were—"

"Drunk?" she said softly, with regret.

"Well. . . yes. It wasn't until I saw you yesterday that it all started to make sense to me." He watched her silently for a moment, then he leaned forward and said quietly, his eyes intense, "What you showed me? I. . . still remember it."

She felt a brief shock of profound emotion. The day had a dreamlike quality to it. What he'd just said brought her screeching to the present, yet she was at a loss as to how to formulate a reply. She didn't know what he was thinking or feeling or what he was actually remembering. It seemed like he was trying to tell her something, but she was afraid to speculate.

"I'm so glad I'll keep my hair," he said with a smirk.

"That's what you remember?" She laughed heartily. It felt good to let go of the tension and the awkwardness. She just hoped she didn't sound hysterical. But then she had another thought, and floundered, "Does, um. . . did you happen to tell Carson all the stuff I told you?"

"No. I'm not touching that. I'll leave it up to you. Though he might not be as interested now that he's seen what a bear you are when you wake up," he said, smirking. Then he seemed to get nervous again. "You two haven't, ah, gotten serious or anything, have you, since we talked on New Athos?"

"No, of course not. Actually, I thought we were going to New Athos as friends. It wasn't until things were underway that I realized he meant it as an actual date. But that was it, just the one, you know, and I think I already explained my thoughts about that, didn't I?"

He nodded and looked pensive. They sat quietly for a moment.

"I think, maybe, we're on the same page," he said and timidly reached out to touch her hand in a way that deliberately mirrored the image she had shown him from the dream.

His touch was gentle, sweet, and his hand was warm. He was swallowing and looking as nervous as she felt. Her stomach did flip-flops and she was struck dumb. Someone brushed by him and he got self-conscious and withdrew his hand. He looked around, noticing the mess was filling up around them.

After a moment, she felt bold enough to ask, "You want to go sit out on the pier and watch the sun set?"

"Sure. But, ah, do you think you could go talk to Carson first? Because things could get pretty weird, pretty fast, and he is a really, really good friend of mine." He looked uneasy.

"What would I say? We only went on one date, Rodney. I don't know much about how these things work, but it seems silly to make a big deal of it. I don't want to hurt his feelings."

"Precisely," he said, pushing his lips together in a line and looking expectant.

She took a deep breath. "You do know I didn't do anything to encourage this, don't you?"

"I didn't figure you did. Just you naturally being you, right? What's not to like? I'll go with you if you want me to. I seriously don't want to, but if you make me, I will."

"But what would I say? This has never happened to me before. I'm still not sure you're right about. . . that. I could be going to make a total fool of myself."

"Ok. Ok. I don't think so." He hesitated, then added, "You know, you might want to talk to Zelenka too."

"What?" she said with disbelief.

"Well he's been asking about you all day. He said he wanted to bring you coffee, or something. I don't know. It was weird."

Emily rolled her eyes. "No. I'm not talking to Radek. You're seeing things that aren't there."

"Ok. Your decision. I won't say a thing. So, ah, gonna eat any more of that?" He pointed to the second hamburger on her tray, out of which she had only taken a couple of bites.

"You can have it." She pushed the tray at him. She shifted in her seat nervously. "You want me to go now?"

"Would you? I'll wait here. Unless. . . ."

"No. I'll go alone. You would only make it weirder." She stood up reluctantly.

"I'm pretty sure I would, yes." He looked up at her with wide, innocent eyes.

"Ok. I'm going." She started to go, then turned back, "Oh, remind me to tell you how Radek curses you in Czech. It's hilarious."

"What? Ok. Bye." He was smiling and sent her a little flutter of his fingers as he took a big bite of the hamburger.

* * *

When Emily got to the infirmary, Carson was nowhere in sight. She asked one of the nurses where he might be and was directed to an office adjacent to the main room. He was working at a computer terminal, which he immediately switched off when she came in.

"Hello, there. Feeling better?" He was smiling warmly, like always, and gestured for her to sit.

"I'm fine. I was just starving. Sorry I was so grumpy. Today and, um, before." She looked around his office, which was pretty spartan, avoiding his gaze.

"Don't worry about it." He looked sincere.

She felt foolish. "Carson," she hesitated.

"Yes?" His eyebrows were raised.

"One of the first days we spoke, you asked me if I was seeing anyone, do you remember?"

"Of course."

She hesitated. "I wasn't. . . completely clear or. . . forthcoming about my answer."

"Ok." He drew out the word, looking confused.

She looked away, hoping Rodney was wrong, and just spit it out as best as she could. "The truth is, I wasn't technically seeing anyone, but. . . I had already, sort of. . . developed. . . . um. . . I don't know. . . feelings? No, no, no—that's not quite right. Ah, an attraction, maybe? Chemistry, of some kind? Ah, for someone. . . here in Atlantis. However, he was. . . well, unavailable, really. Apparently that's changed now and he, ah. . . . Well, I thought that going to the feast with you would be harmless, but I—"

_Oh, crap_. She was wasn't making any sense. She didn't know how to do this any better than Rodney did. She had to rescue this situation somehow.

"Say no more." Carson stood up and had a blank expression on his face.

"I have really terrible interpersonal skills. I'm sorry, Carson. Really, I am. I actually didn't know you meant it to be a date, at first. I thought it was a friendship thing. I feel terrible. I hope I haven't offended you or anything. I'm not good at this. I don't know how to talk to people about this stuff. I just don't have any practice to speak of. I'm not even actually, entirely sure why I'm here," she said awkwardly, still blathering to soothe her own discomfort.

"It's Rodney, isn't it?" He spoke quietly, not looking at her.

She was dumbfounded. "Yes. How did you know?"

He finally looked at her and grimaced. "There were signs. I wasn't sure what was going on or I would have come around more often to see you. I figured you needed to sort things out with yourself." He picked up a chart and flipped through the pages.

"Oh. Well, I hope we can still be friends." She smacked herself in the forehead. "Crap. I'm sorry, Carson. Even I know that sounded stupid." She shook her head and tried again. "I hope this doesn't affect your friendship with Rodney because he's really worried about it. You're really important to him and I hope, in time, we can be good friends too. I do enjoy your company, Carson."

"What about Katie?" He sounded disapproving and it stung.

She looked at her lap, wishing her face wasn't heating up, "I guess they broke up. I'm not sure what happened there. Rodney just wants everything to be. . . um, clear. Katie, ah, has apparently left for Earth, I think." She swallowed and shook her head, knowing how terrible that sounded.

He nodded.

"I'm going to leave now because I think I'm making you uncomfortable and that's the last thing I want to do," she finished lamely.

"Ok."

"Ok. I'm sorry." She got up and started to walk out, feeling really disconnected and weird.

"Emily?"

She turned. "Yes?"

His eyebrows were raised and he had a sympathetic look on his face. "Don't look so upset. It was just one date."

Relief washed over her. "Right. That's what I said. Ok. See you later?"

He nodded. "Of course."

She hesitated, staring at him.

"Is there something else, my dear?"

"No. Just. . . thanks." She turned and fled.


	17. Chapter 17 somnium dream

Sheppard was telling Ronon about some action movie he wanted to show him, but Rodney wasn't paying much attention. After Emily left for the infirmary, his team had shown up and joined him, which was making him feel anxious. He'd only just told them yesterday about breaking up with Katie because he'd had to. They'd thought they should call her down to the infirmary after his recovery from the ascension thing. He'd had to tell them then, but he hadn't said anything about Emily, and he wasn't about to now, either. It would just open up an opportunity for harassment. Sheppard and Ronon liked to watch him squirm. For now, he just wanted to keep it to himself until things were on more solid ground. So, he half-heartedly listened to Sheppard describing a car chase scene, while avidly watching for Emily's return. It was taking her forever. How long could it possibly take to tell Carson to piss-off?

He saw her round the corner and jumped up, mumbling, "See you later."

"Rodney—you forgot your. . . trays," Teyla called after him, but he pretended he didn't hear her. Someone else would take care of it.

Emily smiled, but looked uneasy as he met up with her. God, that smile was really something.

"Hey, so, ah, how'd that go?"

"Not too bad, I guess. Uncomfortable."

"What did you say?"

She shrugged. "Something about chemistry, I think. I hope I never have to do that again."

"Mm. Still want to. . . go sit out on the pier? Talk or something?"

She nodded and looked pensive, so he led the way. They walked outside to the end of the pier and sat down side by side, legs dangling over the edge. It was still fairly early, but the sky had already started to tint to lavender and peach and a nearly full moon hung, blushing, low on the horizon.

Was she expecting some big romantic moment now? Because, he didn't really know how to do that. That dream was creating a lot of pressure, he thought, and swallowed thickly. How could he live up to it? Was he even good enough for her? Were they soul-mates? Did that actually happen?

But the thing that was really eating at him was knowing that in twenty or thirty years. . . he would still be alone. . . until he met her. She wasn't just trying to rescue herself from something painful; she was rescuing him, too. That was staggering. And what if he screwed it up? His track record with women was terrible. He'd done ok so far, but wasn't it just a matter of time before he screwed this up too?

No. No. He had to stop thinking like this. She knew him well enough to know what she was getting into and she still wanted to attempt this now. Isn't that exactly what she'd been trying to tell him on New Athos?

She. . . she had actually given him an incredible gift, he realized suddenly. He knew exactly how she felt. He didn't have to pussyfoot around. He didn't have to stammer and agonize and second-guess himself. He was secure in knowing that she was just as into him as he was into her. He could be himself, confidently knowing that was what she wanted. Right?

"Oh, it is sort of pink, isn't it?" she asked.

"Hm?" Huh. She looked pretty nervous too. Was that good or bad?

"The moon. Radek told me it's sort of like a harvest moon, that it lasts a few months at this time of year. It's pretty. Seems larger than our moon back home too, don't you think?"

"Mm. Yes. The orbit is different. It's closer right now." He rubbed his hands on his pants legs.

Small talk. Yes. That would be a good way to go at first. There were so many questions he needed to ask, but better start with safe ones.

"So, ah, I really don't know that much about you, yet. Here's a question: do you like dogs or cats?"

She looked at him carefully before answering. "Both. But if I could only have one, a dog."

"Oh, no. We're doomed. Cat person all the way," he said, pointing at himself with both hands in an attempt at comedy.

"Really? I had a dog back on Earth. A big, goofy, yellow lab. I miss him. He was the closest thing I had to a boyfriend throughout grad school." She chuckled a little.

"Huh. Really?"

"I told you I'm no good at this stuff. So, tell me—how many cats did you have on Earth before you left? Were you the crazy cat guy with ten cats, or something?"

"One. Einstein. Great cat. Perfect. Very independent. Good company. Liked to sleep on my neck though. That was kinda weird."

"Where is he now?" she asked.

"I gave him to a girl in my building. She didn't like me, but she liked my cat, so." He shrugged.

"I had to give Barney to my cousin when I started working at the SGC because I couldn't spend enough time with him anymore. It just about killed me. This is the longest I've gone without seeing him, though. He's pretty old. I guess there's a distinct possibility I'll never see him again." She sniffed and gazed up at the moon.

_Try to lighten it up, McKay. _

"My cat loves the rings from the top of a gallon of milk, you know—the thing that pops off when you open one? There were thousands of them all over my apartment, but he always wanted a new one. He came running if he heard me open one. He'd bat it around the kitchen for a while, then carry it around for a couple of hours. He'd stalk it and pounce on it. I'm convinced he would have been a great hunter, if I'd had mice or cockroaches or something. It must have been a frustrating existence for him, just being a pampered pet. Really, really great cat."

"That's sweet," she said, smiling. "What kinds of pets do they have here in Pegasus?"

He frowned, thinking back. "I haven't seen any. Maybe ask Teyla or Ronon. I think most of the people here are too busy trying to survive the Wraith to keep a pet alive."

"I guess it's been so quiet since I got here that I forget about that sometimes," she said soberly.

They lapsed into silence. He'd tried to keep it light and look where that got him. Maybe he should just ask what he really wanted to know.

"So, ah." He darted a look at her. "Are you ever going to tell me what was supposed to happen to you on Earth that was so terrible that you ran away?"

She looked panicked for a moment, but quickly brought her expression under control. "Yes. I can tell you that. I should have known you'd be curious about it, after you saw—"

"You don't have to. . . now. You can tell me some other time," he offered, unsure of what her reaction meant.

She sighed and paused a moment. "I haven't told anyone about it—hoped I would never have to, actually, but. . . you deserve an explanation. I told you there was a device. It was from an abandoned planet—nothing there, really, but some ruins. I wasn't there; I just saw the pictures. I hadn't been off-world for years by that point."

She looked out toward the horizon and back at him before continuing. "So, as you know, it was my job to catalog the device and try to decode any script on it. Actually, I was unable to do that with the limited resources I had about the culture and the fragments of language that were recorded."

She looked uneasy telling him the next part, "I guess it's important to note that shortly before that happened I had gone on a few dates with Dr. Jackson. I've always thought of him as my mentor. We were friends and colleagues, really. I didn't really think it would go anywhere, you know? I wasn't. . . actually sure they were even dates at first. I told you, I'm stupid about this stuff."

"Ok. Jackson, really? Huh." He was surprised.

She looked thoughtful, staring at the moon, but not like she was really seeing it. "I don't remember now what I was thinking about that day. I'm normally very methodical. I guess I was in a hurry or preoccupied or something. I think, possibly, I forgot to put on gloves and. . . when I touched the device, it happened. It's the only explanation I can come up with, anyway. In that moment, apparently, I saw some kind of vision of my future. What is strange is that as soon as my hand left the device, everything it showed me started slipping away before I even really knew what was going on."

He nodded slowly, his brow furrowed, and she went on, "I guess. . . I sensed what was happening, or maybe it was just my training, but apparently I tried to record everything it showed me as fast as I could scribble it down. But by the time I turned the page in the notebook, I had completely forgotten anything had happened. I did the research, trying to find a known language that was comparable, but couldn't. I cataloged the device and transferred it to the science team, then went about my day. There were other people working in the same room and they never mentioned anything to me. Apparently they didn't notice anything. I didn't think about it again."

She glanced at him. "About two weeks later, Dr. Jackson asked me about the device because the science team hadn't been able to figure out what its function was and I pulled out my notes to tell him about it. He was standing there, waiting for me to comment, and I. . . just sat there. . . stunned. . . reading this laundry list of awful things that were going to happen to me. That's when I began to realize what must have happened."

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. She seemed to be bracing herself. "Since the day I touched the device, I've been having dreams and nightmares almost every night—all to do with the future, based on these predictions the device made. Up until that point, it had been influencing me without me even realizing it. I'd been seriously considering transferring to Atlantis just that morning—a position I'd been pressured to take for years, but had patently declined. Previously, I just didn't have the guts to go."

She looked sad, embarrassed. He asked her gently, "What did the notes say, Emily?"

She looked at him with an incredulous expression, as though she couldn't believe herself what she was about to say. "They said that I married Dr. Jackson. That he was never home, because he was always off-world. Things weren't. . . great between us. We had three kids. He died off-world, leaving me alone to raise them. Then there was a little about. . . you. It was right there in my own handwriting, but I had no memory of writing it." She looked at him, taking in his shocked expression, and then away. It was clear that was this difficult, distressing, for her to speak of. He felt inadequate. It seemed like, maybe, he should reassure her, but he didn't know how to do that.

"Most of the nightmares were about that—his death, the grief, and trying to care for these. . . children—me, alone, with three small children and how hard that was. How hard it would be." She shook her head, as if not sure of the right way to say it. "You can't imagine how vivid and gut-wrenching these dreams were. I think, maybe, the device imprints these things on your brain so that you get the messages through your subconscious—and it gives them to you so often that you would be hard-pressed not to get the nudge. It seemed to be steering me in a new direction, away from that pain. If I hadn't had the presence of mind to write those notes down, I'm not certain I'd have known it was influencing me. The effects are subtle, but powerful."

He frowned and studied her expression.

She spread her hands and looked at him helplessly, "Once I figured out what was happening I. . . couldn't fight it. I know it's just dreams and scribbled words on a page, but I was afraid it might be right. I only went on one more date with him after that. It was too painful—suspecting everything was going to hell eventually. I just made up excuses and he got the picture pretty quickly. We parted as friends. He doesn't know about any of this."

She seemed to search his face for reassurance, but all Rodney could think about at the moment was Jackson's death. Could she prevent that too? "Did you try to warn him?"

"I. . . haven't yet. I want to, but I don't know what to say. I'll have to eventually, won't I? But I'm still not entirely convinced that it's even real, you know? It's one thing to change my own life. . . but to try to convince him to change his too? I can't do that unless I'm sure. I mean. . . you said it yourself, it's not supposed to be possible to see the future, is it? But if it isn't the future, what else can it be?"

He shrugged. He didn't know what to say.

She looked down, her expression anguished. "The Ancients believed precognition was real. It was mentioned in the text downloaded from the ascension device. When I read that. . . it. . . I thought it probably was real. But still, I'm not sure what the device really is—what its purpose or intention might be. Sometimes I wonder if it's just some kind of suggestion, a manifestation of my subconscious, my imagination, or that I'm simply insane. I don't know. It's been miserable trying to figure it out. Of course, this whole time I've been trying desperately to work under the assumption that it's not real, that it's some kind of mind-game I have to try to beat. It's been hard to trust myself." She glanced at him worriedly.

He tried to reassure her. "Telekinesis and telepathy aren't supposed to be possible either," he said dryly. "Has anything happened to verify anything you saw?"

She looked at the darkening sky, thinking. "I can't think of anything significant. Nothing that feels like proof. And now, of course, I've changed everything. It won't happen that way now."

"Well, it. . . felt like something real to me," he said gruffly. He looked out at the water, as disquieted as she was.

"I know. It does. It really does. I didn't expect you to believe me. I guess it's because you saw it for yourself. I didn't think. . . that would be possible." She looked down at her hands. He thought maybe he saw them tremble, but she quickly moved them, clasping them together and shoving them between her knees, hunching forward a little. She glanced at him sideways. "It feels nice, that memory, doesn't it? I mean, I know it's weird to see yourself like that, but didn't you think it was a little bit wonderful?"

He nodded once, but was afraid to meet her gaze. This was a lot more than he expected. Though what he had expected her to say, he wasn't really sure. "What do you think it was that we were doing?" he asked.

She still looked nervous, reluctant. "It was a party. . . for us, I think. I've had a lot of time to think about it, you know, and I could be wrong because, well, we don't actually say much, but I think it was. . . an engagement party, for us. It's champagne that we are drinking and I keep looking at my hand and so do you."

"Hm," he said, feeling uncertain, his gaze fixed on the sea.

"Did you think it was something different?" she asked, searching his face.

"No. No. I don't know what to think," he said, glancing at her, the corner of his mouth turned up slightly.

"I know. It's weird, isn't it? Five years ago, I didn't even know about the existence of the Stargate and now look where we are. All the boundaries that we thought constrained our lives are gone. I keep trying to make sense of it all. Every time I pick up another device in the lab I. . . panic a little inside, wondering what fresh hell this thing could wreak on my life. But it's too late. I can't go back. It's scary that this is my life now."

"You're really careful, Radek says. You have strict protocols."

"I do. I try to be—now more than ever before. This isn't what I wanted to talk about on our first date," she said softly. "It's too much. We should be doing something fun."

"Like what? What do you want to do?"

She snorted and smiled. "I have no idea."

She sighed as quiet grew between them again. A cool breeze rifled through her hair. It was getting cooler as the sun started its descent behind the sea. Where the air met the water was indistinct and there was a soft apricot glow on the horizon now. He noticed a few of the brightest stars were shining through the pastel haze.

She was hugging herself against the chill. This time, she was the one who was cold. She kept glancing at him uneasily. She was probably worried about his reaction to her story. He wanted to let her know that it was ok, what she had told him, but he didn't know how to say it. He was wearing his uniform jacket, and was warm enough, so he tentatively scooted a couple of inches closer to her and slipped his arm around her back. She started with surprise and looked up at him. He smiled at her slightly, shyly, and she leaned against him.

He cleared his throat. "Why didn't you tell anyone? Shouldn't you have let the SGC doctors look you over, make sure you were ok?"

She let out a ragged breath. "I've asked myself that same question so many times. The day I realized what had happened—well, it had already been almost two weeks by then, since my exposure. In that moment I was just shocked and embarrassed. Dr. Jackson was standing right there when I read it, you know? You can imagine how awkward that might be, right? And what could be done for me, really? They couldn't reverse it. I knew that."

She shrugged. "Then there was the added complication that he had mentioned to General O'Neill that we'd been dating and O'Neill wasn't happy about it. It was contrary to some military protocol, I suppose. There was a small stir over it—mostly just O'Neill ranting. I don't know if it's generally known but. . . O'Neill and Carter seem to have this. . . thing. Maybe no one else sees it, because no one speaks of it, but even the little bit I've seen. . . I don't know. Maybe it just hit too close to home for him. If I had come forward with this then? I was afraid of what would happen. What would they say about me? The young protégé, apparently in love with her boss, creating drama? I had worked too hard to let that happen. I was also afraid they would think I was crazy—they were already suspicious because of what I'd said about the wormhole. I was afraid of losing my job or getting locked up somewhere and never getting out. Still, I know I should have come forward. It was wrong not to."

He frowned at her paranoia, but he could understand it. Things were weird enough at the SGC, but her problem with gate travel had apparently made things especially difficult for her.

He tried to sound gentle. "Crazy things happen at the SGC every day. I think they would have believed you, Emily. What if someone else is exposed to it?"

"I know. I know. I worry about that. It's just. . . you know they would have. . . questioned me extensively. It felt so intensely private to me. I'm not. . . used to telling people things about myself. By the time I read those notes, the device was already in a crate on its way to Area 51. I hope it's buried there and the crate is never opened. I. . . I'll tell Dr. Jackson soon. He told me before I left that he would come help me with the software at some point. I would prefer to tell him in person—not through email—and. . . I think I'll feel safer telling him here, farther from the SGC. The thing is. . . I don't have a date to tell him. I could give him a timeframe spanning a few years to be careful, but I don't know if he would take that seriously or if it would even help. I kept hoping the dreams would reveal more, but I don't dream about him anymore."

_Not about him._

"But you still have dreams caused by the device?" he asked.

"Yes," she said hesitantly.

"Anything else about me?" he prodded. He couldn't help it.

She thought a minute. "Well, it would have been Carson that introduced us. I only realized that when I had the dream again, recently. It's strange, because my first day here on Atlantis, Carson tried to introduce us. But you were walking by, a man on a mission, and ignored him."

"Where was that?"

"In the mess."

He shook his head at his own stupidity. "Really? Huh. I should have paid attention."

"A lot of it is sketchy. They are dreams, after all. It's not like I can tell you if you win the Nobel someday or not."

He huffed at that and couldn't suppress a smile.

She continued, her voice getting softer, more hesitant again, "In one of the dreams. . . you gave me the idea to come here. You said, 'If only you had come to Atlantis all those years ago.'"

He looked down and she looked up at the same time. She'd been playing cat and mouse with her glances for some time. This time, she held onto his gaze, and he thought, maybe, that was an invitation. He leaned down then, slowly, and put his lips on hers, gently at first, and then with increasing urgency.

He forgot about the cold, about their nervousness, about what she'd just told him. All he could think about was her, kissing her, his lips sliding smoothly over hers. He didn't think he'd ever been more aware of another person in his life. He could smell the fruity scent of her hair. One of his arms was still wrapped around her, hugging her closer, his fingers splayed over her lower back. He grabbed her shoulder, trying to pull her body against him at this awkward angle. He felt her hand come to rest on his chest, slipping into the opening of his jacket, and wondered if she could feel his heart pounding. His stomach tightened. He slid his fingers over her shoulder to cup her neck and felt her pulse racing under his fingertips.

Someone was insistently calling her name on the radio, but she seemed to be ignoring it. He wondered why she would do that. Mm. He'd always suspected he was a good kisser. Minutes went by, then they were calling again. It was distracting. Were they going to keep this up all night? He pulled back.

She smiled at him shyly and said, "That was amazing."

"Mm," he said, smiling back. He liked the sound of that.

He examined her expression. They were still calling for her but she was just watching him expectantly. Waiting for more kissing.

"Don't you hear them?" he asked. He slid his hand up her neck to brush her hair aside. That explained it. She wasn't wearing a radio.

"What?" She reached a hand up, feeling her right ear and the surrounding curls. "Oh, I forgot to put one on. Is someone looking for me?"

He pulled his own radio off and said, "It's the control room," as he handed it to her. She fumbled with the tiny thing and he caught her hand to steady it so it wouldn't tumble into the water. Her fingers were cold and he felt a stab of guilt. He should have given her his jacket.

She sent him a puzzled glance and settled it on her ear. "Yes? This is Dr. Freedman."

He felt like he should give her some privacy, but it wasn't a phone call and everyone on base with a radio on was listening. He was acutely aware of how close she was. Even now, his hand still rested on her back, just a thin piece of fabric between them, and he could still smell that ripe, delicious scent wafting from her hair.

"Yes. That's fine. Thank you." She clicked the radio off, pulled it from her ear, and held it out to him. "The SGC just sent a jumper through with some supplies. Among them was a crate of my things. They're taking it up to my quarters for me. Good thing, too. It's really, really heavy." She smiled and watched him replace the radio on his ear. "Now what?" she breathed.

He raised his eyebrows at her, reluctant to say it, because he didn't want to say goodnight. "Well, you're cold, so we should probably go back in."

"I'm fine," she protested.

"No, no—your fingers are like ice." He chuckled and grabbed one of her hands.

"Oh, sorry." She shivered, as if on cue, just to prove his point.

He stood up and held out his hand. She let him pull her up. She stood there, holding his hand for a minute, watching him. There was something new between them now, a tension, or something, and he felt even more drawn to her than before. He didn't want the kissing to be over and he didn't think she did either. They stood there, just watching each other, until she shivered again. He pulled off his jacket and settled it on her shoulders as they started the long walk back to the door that would let them back into the city.


	18. Chapter 18 postulo claim

When they reached the door, Rodney watched her turn to look again at the sunset. The sun had just slipped below the horizon and the sky had darkened to deeper shades of its pastel palette. The moon glowed more rosily and more stars were visible.

"It's really lovely," she said softly.

He glanced at the sunset, but it didn't elicit the same response. "Yes, it is," he said, regarding her openly.

She glanced at him and caught his meaning. She made a small, disconcerted sound and ducked her head to go inside, slipping the jacket back off and handing it back to him. "That was my first Lantean sunset," she said. "The first one I paid any attention to, anyway."

"Hm." He nodded, feeling uneasy. "Where to now?" He wracked his brain for some suggestion of something they could do, but couldn't think of anything plausible except for a walk through the city. It was still early, though. He'd rather do that later, once all the gossip hounds had gone to bed.

"Would it be odd to go back to my quarters? I'd kind of like to see my stuff. Would that be too boring? To watch me unpack?"

"Not at all," he said, his mind racing with thoughts of what that might mean. She said she was terrible at this stuff, so it might not mean anything but some strained, awkward moments. But the way she'd been kissing him made him wonder if she wasn't about to offer more.

She grew quiet as they walked and he struggled to wrap his mind around the story she had told him on the pier, attempting to stay focused and not think about the kissing for a minute. This device had done more to her than he'd originally thought. He remembered the day in her lab when he'd asked her why she'd come to Atlantis and the strange panicked expression that had come over her face. Her fear seemed completely justified now and he regretted that he'd been so suspicious that he'd gone off and told Elizabeth that he thought Emily could be working under duress, influenced by someone with ulterior motives. He needed to tell Elizabeth that he was wrong, but he couldn't tell her about all of this, could he? It didn't seem like it was his story to tell.

What would it be like to live with knowledge of your own future? To be able to steer it in a more favorable direction, or try to? As impatient as he was, he didn't think he would want that. It would be torture. She had completely abandoned her life to avoid something truly terrible, had walked away from another man to try to find him. It was a sobering thought.

What had she said on New Athos? What if it looked so good to you that you couldn't help yourself from trying to get there? God, she was right. He'd seen it and he wanted it. Wanted her. All of it.

It shouldn't be possible. He knew that logically. But at the same time, she was right, there was so much they didn't understand and if the Ancients believed it was real. . . that meant something. They didn't seem to be a gullible bunch. He knew she wasn't crazy. If it had happened to him, he would have wondered the same thing.

And the kissing. He suppressed a groan. He wanted to try to manipulate the situation and resume where they'd left off, his thoughts wandering to where that might inevitably lead. He knew they technically hadn't spent much time together, but. . . somehow it seemed like so much more. It was the memory making him feel this way, he knew, and also knew it wasn't exactly honorable. Was he taking advantage of her? That was an uncomfortable thought.

There was a large crate outside her door. As she got close, the door opened for her. _Interesting_. That natural gene gave her more control like John and Carson. Before he could think to offer help, she hunched down to shove the crate inside, and then got down on her knees to open it right next to the door. It was densely packed, no square inch left unstuffed. It must have taken hours to figure out how to pack it like that in order to maximize the amount of stuff she could bring. It illustrated how methodical she was. She started making piles of stuff around the door.

_This is going to take a while, _he thought.

He groaned as he sat down on the floor nearby, back against the wall. He picked up a bottle of some kind of hair product and gave it a sniff. Hm. This was clearly the source. She glanced at him curiously and he set it down quickly, picking up a paperback book instead.

He flipped through the book. "You like sci fi?" he asked.

"Yep. Don't you?"

"Sure." He snorted. "It's not very realistic, though, is it? Compared to what's really out there. I mean, Wraith? What the hell?"

She nodded agreement. "But they don't know that, do they? They're just using their imagination. Truth is stranger than fiction, as they say. If they knew about all this, could they make tv shows or movies about it, do you think? Wouldn't people find it too disturbing? I mean, if everybody knew about the Wraith here in Pegasus or the Ori or the Goa Uld, could Earth ever be the same again?"

He looked at her frankly. "John told me the Athosian kids play Wraith."

Her eyes went wide with shock. "Really? That's disturbing."

"No kidding," he murmured, still thumbing through the book absently.

She sat back and said hesitantly, "Do you want to have kids someday, Rodney?" She seemed to be trying to keep her voice light, curious.

He frowned. That was a loaded question. He didn't know how he was supposed to respond to it. "I don't know."

She frowned too, and he realized she might be thinking of the dreams she'd just described. "Me either."

"My sister has a kid. A girl. Her name is Madison. She's four," he volunteered.

"What's she like?"

He hesitated, thinking about it. "I don't know. She talks a lot. I haven't spent much time with her."

"What's your sister like?"

He set the book down and picked up a ball of yarn and squished it gently in his hand. "She's really smart—brilliant, actually. She's no me, but—" he looked over at her and her amused expression reminded him how ridiculous that sounded. "She was studying astrophysics but didn't finish her doctorate because she got pregnant. So, she dropped out of the program and got married and had Madison." He knew he was scowling.

She touched his arm. "That upset you?"

"It's a waste. She's really talented."

"Won't Madison benefit from having a really smart mom? Won't the gene pool benefit from people like her passing on her genes? You can't expect smart people not to procreate because careers are too important. We would de-evolve into Neanderthals if we all sacrificed having children for our careers. Or. . . is it only smart women who have to make the sacrifice?" She pulled up her knees, put her chin on one of them and looked at him expectantly.

He felt surprised and a little defensive. "She could have waited."

"Not forever. Human eggs can only wait so long. Once you're past 35 or 40 it's over. At what point in her career was she supposed to opt out? Is one time better than another? From a purely energetic point of view, it makes sense to do it when you're younger, so you can keep up with them. Of course, there's the argument that you're more patient as you age."

That was unexpected. "You've given this a lot of thought."

"Every woman with a career gives this a lot of thought, Rodney. I've never been in a serious relationship and I've thought about it. The important thing is if she's happy with the choice she made."

He nodded reluctantly. "She seems to be. Yeah. I think she really is."

"Well, if the desire is still there, once the children are old enough to, I don't know, fend for themselves or whatever, maybe she can get back in the game. Her intellect hasn't changed, has it? She's just taking a detour for now, right? I mean she was just here recently working with you—presumably she's still thinking about physics?"

"Yeah. She is." He looked at her thoughtfully.

"See? There you go. All is not lost." She patted his knee and smiled.

"Hm." He looked down at the ball of yarn he was still squishing, digesting what she'd said. "What's this?" he asked.

"Yarn? You don't know what yarn is?" She chuckled and pulled some more things out of the crate.

"Of course I know what yarn is. What are you going to do with it?"

She rolled her eyes, laughing at herself. "Probably nothing. I knit sometimes, when I'm really bored. Sometimes I do crosswords or sudoku or games on my blackberry." She held up books illustrating her point. "I used to do these kinds of things a lot more, I guess. Lately I've felt driven to work more and I haven't been reading or doing these things as much. I'm not going off-world like you, you know. I need to keep busy. I was worried I would go crazy here." Her eyes flared and she smiled triumphantly, pulling oblong boxes out of the crate. "Diet coke. The one thing I really miss about Earth."

He smirked at her and peered into the crate. There were several more packs inside the crate, he could see. She got to her feet and disappeared into what he'd thought was a closet when he was there earlier in the day.

"Wait, what? Where did you go? There's another room there?" He came over to investigate.

"Yeah," she called out. She was kneeling in front of what looked like a dorm-sized fridge, looking at the controls. "A small kitchen."

"You're kidding!" he said. "How did you win the lottery for the best quarters? Does this stuff work? I should seriously move up here. Ah, to the neighborhood, I mean."

"I don't know. The Ancients didn't leave behind their cookware and I don't have any access to food, really." She closed the door on the fridge and brushed past him, wandering back into the living area. "I just took the quarters they gave me. Actually, I think this section was meant for families."

"Really? Why?" He followed her.

She opened the door to a small room with two twin beds and a crib. "See."

"Whoa. That's kind of creepy."

"I know, right?" She chuckled a little. "I think that's why these quarters are so far from the control room. It's for protection for the children. The quarters you live in are meant for soldiers, I suspect. They're pretty spartan, aren't they?"

"Yeah. I didn't even know these existed."

"It's basically like a small two bedroom apartment just about anywhere." She led him through the master bedroom and showed him a balcony off that room. "The stained glass is stunning, but I wish I could see the ocean better from inside. Sometimes I leave this door open." They came back in quickly because it had grown even chillier outside.

He stopped and pointed at the full-sized bed. "That's huge!" He sat down on the edge of it, testing the mattress.

"You didn't notice before?"

"No, I was just looking at you. I mean you were laying there with your shoes on and your hair was covering your face. . . . You looked so—" He realized that she was backing into the living area and he jumped up off the bed. "Oh, no—I wasn't, ah, I mean—" He stammered, gesturing at the bed, feeling idiotic. _Dammit! _ He was going to screw this up!

She held up a hand and smiled a half smile. "It's ok." She turned and surveyed the mess that she had made unpacking the crate. "I need to clean this up, if you don't mind?"

"Oh, ah, sure. You want me to go?"

"No!" she said quickly. "No, no. I mean. . . would you like a soda?"

"Sure."

The room was arranged so that there were two pairs of the ubiquitous white armless chairs pushed together like love seats, facing each other across a small glass coffee table. He settled on one and flicked open the warm soda she handed him, slurping it cautiously and trying not to belch as he watched her organize her things and put them away. She set some books on the table and he leaned forward to look through them, glad for the distraction.

He picked up a small, stone sphere, surprised at its heft. It had three parallel marks around its equator. "What's this?"

"It's called a grooved sphere. A colleague of mine sent it to me from South Africa because she knows I like that kind of mysterious stuff. They were unearthed by miners from a pocket of rock 2.8 billion years old—Precambrian. They're quite a mystery. Of course, modern archeology doesn't know what to make of them, and no one dare make any outlandish claims because of what happened to Dr. Jackson, but you and I may make more accurate speculations, don't you think?"

"Early alien contact with Earth?"

"Very early." She settled down next to him, folding herself neatly, knees bent, legs tucked under her, with her own can of soda in hand.

"So, you think we should tell everyone on Earth about things like this—the truth?"

"Yes. I don't see the benefit in lying."

"People would go nuts. They would panic. Every nut with a conspiracy theory and alien abduction story would come out of the woodwork."

"Yes. It would be chaotic, at first. But. . . we need to grow up, Rodney, embrace the future. The Ancients have already been to the future and died away and we're here playing with their discarded toys. We shouldn't have our brightest minds working on stuff that is meaningless in the greater scheme of things. We need to defend ourselves—and not just with scavenged tech that we don't always fully understand—present company excluded, of course. We could move forward with technology so much faster, if they knew. I'm sure you know how little funding NASA gets. It's pathetic."

"Hm. I take your point."

"And as far as the alien abduction thing goes—we know for a fact that some rogue Asgard have done such things. There may be others, maybe with powerful cloaking devices that NORAD can't detect."

"Maybe."

"I don't doubt that some of those poor souls are nuts, but I suspect some of them are telling the truth—and we should be protecting them."

He sighed heavily and frowned, setting the empty soda can on the table and turning slightly to face her.

"I haven't scared you off yet," she murmured.

"Hm. No," he said, his gaze not wavering.

"You don't care that I'm crazy?" She sounded a little breathless and set her can of soda down, too.

"Are you? I hadn't noticed." One side of his mouth turned up in a half smile.

His heart was hammering against his rib cage again. He watched her, waiting for some kind of invitation. He was afraid of pushing too hard. He wanted to be sure. He didn't want to screw this up.

She seemed hesitant. She would study him for a while, then glance away.

"How do people do this?" she implored suddenly in an agitated voice.

"What?"

"This!" She gestured rapidly between them. He was trying to formulate some reply when she scooted closer and raised a hand tentatively to touch his face.

It was the sign he was waiting for and he didn't waste any time. His lips descended on hers, hungrily. Things quickly devolved into the kind of kissing they'd been doing earlier, out on the pier, except that out there, the cold and the public space had kept him a little more constrained. He pressed her back into the chair somewhere partway between sitting upright and laying down and her legs slid out from under her.

He felt her tongue flick against his bottom lip and his eyes flared open in surprise. He opened his mouth a little wider, letting her tongue dart inside, and groaned as her tongue swirled lightly around his, deepening the kiss. One of his hands slipped under her back and he rested the other on her side, sliding up her rib cage, slowly, so tantalizingly slowly. When his hand finally slid up to cup her breast, though, she gasped and pulled away, flinging her arm out to catch herself.

"What is it? What's wrong?" He backed off a little, his brow furrowed, his eyes darting back and forth over her face.

"This is moving really, really fast," she panted, trying to sit up and shoving her hair out of her face. "Just. . . let me catch up for a minute."

"Ok," he said, feeling confused and guilty as he pulled himself off of her and gave her more space. "I thought. . . ."

"You. . . didn't think wrong. I just. . . things have changed so drastically and I. . . ." She looked embarrassed. "I haven't done anything like this for a long time."

"Oh. Me either. Ah, but you have. . . you know. . . before?"

A peal of laughter burst from her. She stifled it and looked slightly disconcerted.

"What?"

"Yes. I have 'you know' before." She pulled her knees up level with her chin and laid her head sideways on one knee, grinning at him. "I'm sorry. I. . . this is just so sudden. You've caught me completely by surprise."

"Oh. So you're not. . . prepared?"

She turned her head away and shook a little bit.

"Are you. . . laughing?"

She looked like she was trying to maintain a sober expression. "I'm sorry. I am prepared. . . in more than one sense."

"Ok. What's funny?"

"Nothing. This is just nerves."

He remembered the somatic fertility device. So she had a nervous laugh. That wasn't so bad, he supposed.

"Huh. Ok. Now what?"

She looked sheepish and slid across the space between them again. He stayed put, deciding to play it cautious. She appeared to be serious. No laughing now. She leaned into him and laid her lips softly against his. He didn't know what to do. He ached to touch her but he wasn't sure of himself anymore.

Restraint. Yes. He could do restraint. . . for a while.

She pulled back suddenly and looked incensed. "What are you doing? Stop it!"

"What?" He wanted to say, 'what now?'

"You're holding back!"

"But. . . you said. . . it was too fast."

She was going to give him a complex if she kept this up for much longer.

She pressed her forehead to his. "I'm screwing this up. I'm sorry."

Her hands were on his chest. His breath felt tight.

"Maybe I should go."

She looked panicked. "Is that what you want to do, or what you think you should do?" She was examining him so intensely. It was unnerving.

"We haven't known each other that long. . . ."

"It feels like longer to me." She leaned forward, her cheek brushing his. _Oh, God._ She was talking about the dreams. She pressed her lips to his ear and he couldn't stop a sharp intake of breath. "We need to just get it out of the way so we can relax," she breathed into his ear.

How could he disagree with that? Still. . . he couldn't get it out of his head that he was taking advantage of her. One of her hands was wandering, straying too close to his belt buckle. He grabbed it and pulled it to safety, keeping it clasped to his own.

He cleared his throat. "Are you sure? Because. . . ."

Her cheek slid against his and her lips hovered above his own. He swallowed hard, trying to figure out what she was thinking.

"Are the dreams making you do this?" he asked point blank, because he couldn't take it anymore.

She looked startled. "What would make you say that?"

"You said they're making you do things."

She gave her head a little shake. _Peaches, again._ "They aren't making me do things."

"Are you sure? Because you said. . . ."

"No. They just show me things. How they could be. They don't make me do anything. I'm in control. I'm making the decisions." She sounded certain.

"Ok. I just. . . if we do this. . . I don't want you to regret it."

"Believe me—I'm not going to regret it. I already know what it's going to be like. It's going to be good." Her chest was heaving. She was staring boldly into his eyes.

His mouth went dry. "You're saying—you've dreamt about. . . that?"

She didn't answer. A look of determination strengthened her features. She swung a leg over, straddling his hips, and kissed him again. He didn't hold back this time.


	19. Chapter 19 possideo possess

Emily awoke with Rodney breathing softly in her ear. The events of the night before came rushing back and she felt overcome with thoughts and sensations—muzzy-headed from a short sleep, the soft sheets sliding over her bare skin, Rodney's warm breath pulsing in her ear and warm skin contacting hers. She felt languid, decadent, desirable. She'd never felt this assortment of feelings all at once and rarely one at a time. She laid there listening to him breathing, savoring this new consciousness within herself.

She enjoyed the levity of spirit his company had brought. For the first time in months she wasn't worried—not about the Wraith, the Replicators, her job, the damned device or her future. All of the uncertainty and mental anguish of the last few months had lifted. She'd been given some kind of reprieve. Things might actually be turning out as she'd hoped.

Her gaze drifted to his hand draped possessively at her waist. Those thick, blocky fingers were really something, she thought with amusement. He'd practically used the scientific method on her, gauging her response to his touch. But it was good. It was sweet. It was him.

She started to turn over to look at him but found she couldn't because he was laying on her hair. She tried to see the clock but she couldn't see that either. His arm confined her as well. She couldn't move without waking him, which is exactly what she didn't want to do—she wanted to watch him sleep. She started to chuckle softly and the harder she tried to stop, the funnier it seemed until she was quietly gasping with mirth. She couldn't believe he was sleeping through it—it felt like the whole bed was shaking.

Finally, he shifted, murmuring. She pulled her hair out from under him and rolled on her side to look at him. He had a sweet, dreamy look on his face. Almost a half smile was creeping up on his lips. She surveyed him, feeling happiness burbling inside her, a funny tingly sensation in her stomach.

One of his eyes opened to a slit and he mumbled huskily, "I said, what's so funny?"

"I'm sorry," she said brightly. "I was trapped."

"Trapped? Like a bear?" he croaked, his voice thick with sleep.

"Maybe by a bear? You were on my hair."

His eyes were closed again. "Your hair is like a leaky feather pillow." He flopped on his back and rubbed a hand over his face, dark with stubble.

"What?" she giggled.

"The curls kept tickling my nose." His hand raised limply to indicate his nose and he peeked at her from under heavy lids.

She grinned and propped herself up on an elbow to look at him. "I'm sorry. I could shave my head, I guess."

"Hm. No way." He reached out and touched her hair gingerly. "It does seem to have a life of its own, though." He pulled her down for a kiss.

When she came up for air, she smiled impishly and said, "You're certainly a better bedmate than Barney."

His eyebrows shot up. "Who's Barney?"

She chuckled. "My dog. I told you about him. He snores and barks and runs in his sleep. You're pretty quiet by comparison. More snugly, too."

He looked relieved. "What time is it?"

She glanced at the clock and cringed. "Six-fifteen. I'm sorry I woke you so early. I'm going to take a shower. Do you want to meet for breakfast at seven-thirty?"

"Are you sure you want to get up?" He started to playfully reach for her.

She groaned with reluctance. "No, I don't want to. But if we don't get to work at our regular times, people are going to talk. We may be in another galaxy, in a vast city, but it's really the equivalent of a small town, Rodney. If we both don't show up to work this morning, people will notice."

"Mm. That's true." His hand was covering his face, and he peeked out from under it with an animated expression, "How about twenty minutes of heavy petting?"

"Ten." She giggled.

"Ok, ten—and I watch you shower?" he asked avidly. He rolled over on his stomach and bunched the pillow up under his torso, facing her.

"That's creepy." She couldn't even pretend not to smile.

"Is it? Oh, come on, throw me a bone," he said, grinning.

"That's precisely what I'm afraid of." She laughed so hard a few tears squeezed out and she collapsed back on the pillow. He took advantage of her helplessness and pinned her down, thick layers of blankets and sheets between them. When she finally stopped laughing, she looked up at him.

"I love your laugh." His eyes were sparkling with merriment.

"Thanks. It gets me in trouble sometimes. I can't always control myself." She shrugged languidly and stared at him happily.

"I can see that." He kissed her with an intensity intended to change her mind about getting out of bed, pulling at the bedclothes that were bunched between them.

* * *

The hot breakfast service would be nearly over when she noticed what time it was later. "We'd better go," she sighed. "Now I don't have time to wash my hair and it's probably a mess. It'll be a ponytail day, today. Damn high-maintenance curls," she muttered.

"It looks great." He wrapped a spiral around his finger and leaned back a little to look at her.

She felt her stomach grumble. They'd been up half the night and the previous night's dinner was long gone. "Well, if you want a hot breakfast, we'd better get going, or we'll be stuck with bagels and toast, you know."

She reluctantly pulled away when he made some kind of throaty sound of agreement. She self-consciously kept the sheet wrapped around her as she reached for the bathrobe she'd left on the floor next to the bed in the middle of the night. With nervous fingers, she pulled it on and turned to see him, head on his hands, elbows akimbo, watching her keenly.

She smiled, feeling her face go warm and pink. "That means you have to get up, you know." She pointed at the door. "Go! I'll see you in the mess in a few minutes," she said as she disappeared inside the bathroom.

When she was done in the bathroom and peeked back into the bedroom, she was a little disappointed that he had actually gone. She threw on a uniform and found a band for her hair. She put it up, pulling a few curls loose to frame her face. Then she dabbed on a little makeup, found her radio, stuck it on her ear, and set off for the mess.

He was already there when she arrived, looking a bit haggard from lack of sleep, staring off into space and downing a large mug of coffee. She had hoped to eat with him alone, but Ronon and John had already joined him by the time she got there. She darted looks at him but he didn't look up until she placed her tray across from his.

"Did eight a.m. come too soon, Dr. McKay?" she asked in a teasing tone.

He huffed. "Mm," he said lazily. "As long as I get one cup of strong coffee for every hour of missed sleep, I'm fine. Then, of course, more throughout the day to supplement that."

She tried to look as normal as possible but found it difficult to drag her eyes from him. He seemed to be having the same problem. His heavy-lidded eyes lingered on the throat of her shirt. It was a small thing—minute really—but she'd left it unzipped for the first time and that detail hadn't escaped his regard. He wasn't ogling her exactly. It was more of an appreciative inspection. It made her feel self-conscious, but she liked it.

She knew he was thinking about the night before, about the moment he'd pulled her shirt over her head, revealing her bra. If she'd had any inkling, when she'd chosen her attire, of what she might be up to hours later, she might have settled on something other than a pink and white gingham bra, sprinkled with tiny cartoon cherries and festooned with syrupy-sweet, white lace. He'd been completely struck dumb. To say that he liked it would have been an understatement of magnitudes unknown. And now? She was pretty sure he was wondering what new secrets lay beneath her blue uniform shirt. It was a heady, delicious feeling, that realization.

"So you have a formula? For coffee consumption?" she asked, trying to push those thoughts aside—those and the thoughts of what had come after. She was afraid they might color her expression and she didn't want people guessing what they had been up to just hours before.

"Hm?" He seemed to snap out of it then and his eyes lifted to hers. "Oh, yes, yes. I, ah, am very practiced in the art of subverting the need for sleep. Sounds like you are too. Do you have your own tricks?"

"Not really. Nothing so precise. Just drink something caffeinated whenever my mind starts to wander. I expect I'll be drinking a lot of coffee today. . . ." She trailed off, realizing how that had sounded. She glanced at him and saw that he was smirking and she couldn't contain an incredulous snort which was quickly followed by a giggle. She tried to quash it, but laughter was perilously close to the surface. She felt punchy, giddy, and he kept smirking and laughing too.

The conversation remained relatively tame and uneventful, though. She put away a big bowl of oatmeal, some eggs and bacon, a whole wheat bagel and an orange. She couldn't seem to get enough to eat after the painful days she had spent worrying about him.

John asked her what she did for exercise.

She grinned and glanced at Rodney, "I don't. I stay mentally fit."

Rodney covered his mouth and laughed.

John raised his eyebrows. "Do you eat like that everyday?"

"Um. Not really. I often forget to eat, so when I do, I have to make it count."

As she was walking away with her tray, she heard John ask Rodney if he had seen him doing the walk of shame that morning. She was glad she had gotten out of there when she did.

It was going to be hard to concentrate today. All her thoughts were of him. The attraction was more than just about the dreams, she was sure of that now. After all, the dreams were just glimpses of something that seemed very far away. They'd captured her curiosity. They'd gotten her there. But they'd never felt entirely real, despite the sense of urgency that clouded her thoughts when she thought of them.

She was only beginning to know him. If she was something of a mouse, he was surely a crusty old sea turtle. He kept to the sea of science where he felt safe but he was venturing to shore now to. . . mate. She blushed furiously at that thought as she handed in her breakfast tray and turned to see him striding purposefully out of sight, on his way to duty in the control room. He was cautiously sticking his vulnerable neck out, testing to see if it was safe. She had the sense he would retreat to his shell and scurry back to the sea at any moment if something went awry. She would have to make sure that didn't happen. She liked what he'd let her see so far.

She realized she was standing there at the tray return, lost in her thoughts, and started forward again, considering her goals for the day, when she looked up and met Colonel Sheppard's gaze across the room. His face was alight with wry amusement and he swiftly turned his attention back to Ronon.

She was beginning to understand it now, this relationship McKay had with his team. He'd spoken of them a little the night before and his affection for them was clear. They had his back, were always there for him, and they seemed to take turns getting each other out of trouble. Their talents balanced each other well; they were a formidable team—quick thinking, quick to act in each other's defense, or for the welfare of the city. They teased McKay—not out of cruelty, like she had originally thought—but out of fond attachment. It was probably something like a sibling relationship—and with that ego. . . or crusty shell. . . he was an easy target, but they meant no serious harm.

She already felt a small, fragile desire to protect him from harm. It was bewildering. This thing between her and McKay. It was so intense. She'd let her defenses down for him, something she'd seldom done in the past. She knew that even if this turned out to be something painful, a meaningless fling, that trying was a good thing. If that was the only good that could come of the device's interference in her life, that was enough. She didn't want to be alone anymore. It might not be McKay, she told herself sternly, but at least she could finally imagine herself being with someone.

When she got to her lab, she found the thumb drive with the translation software on it and installed it on a laptop. She was looking through the interface Rodney and Radek had developed and it looked pretty sharp. It was just dawning on her that she was going to need a few words of explanation about how to get started when Radek came in, cheerfully saying good morning in Czech, and presented her with a steaming mug of coffee.

She replied in Czech and asked him how to get started entering the data, which he happily showed her, chattering to her in Czech the whole time. Then he asked her if she wanted to go to karaoke night with him.

She felt her eyes go wide with disbelief. "Co? Myslíš jako rande? Ptáte se mě na rande?" She hoped she had selected the right word for date—there seemed to be so many to choose from.

He stopped what he was doing and took a step back, looking uncharacteristically unsure of himself. "Ano. You aren't seeing anyone, are you?"

She returned to English too and focused uneasily on the computer screen, not sure how to handle the situation. "I'm sorry, Radek, but I am seeing someone."

He looked a little dejected and she felt a prick of guilt. It seemed wrong to hurt his feelings. "Oh, really? Who? Carson?"

"Rodney."

He seemed taken aback. "Rodney? Really? Oh." She saw realization dawn. "Oh! Well, now, that really explains your reaction, doesn't it, to the whole ascension device accident. But I've never seen you two together." He cocked an eyebrow at her. Whatever distress he might have felt seemed to be replaced by his usual analytic expression.

"It's. . . a recent turn of events. But I'd really like to keep speaking with you in Czech, if you like, because I'm learning so much from you." She shot him a sly grin. "In fact, I learned a few new swear words from you just the other day. I assume 'ty vole' means more than just 'you ox', right? Something along the lines of 'lumbering hulk of stupidity'? Rodney can be infuriating, can't he?"

Radek arched his eyebrows at her and pushed his glasses up.

A laugh burst from her, releasing her uneasy tension. "And when you send him to 'do haje,' you are clearly not sending him for a walk in the woods, but to a place that may be as bad as or worse than hell? Czech has some delightful idioms and you seem to enjoy using them freely without anyone being the wiser." She grinned to put him at ease, having knowingly chosen two of the least offensive swears Radek liked to use against Rodney.

He pursed his lips and nodded thoughtfully. "Huh," he said, slanting his eyes at her and shaking his head.

She giggled and he chuckled a little.

"Thanks for the coffee. I may show up at karaoke night after all. I used to go to karaoke bars with my friends in grad school. It sounds like fun, but. . . I don't know if Rodney will want to go."

After Radek left, she got out a pile of her research notebooks. They contained a compilation of Ancient word combination families and rules of inverted letters that she had been working on for the last couple of years. It would be the basis of her data entry. Then she sent an email to the data burst pool for Dr. Jackson to inform him that the software was ready, should he still want to make arrangements to come to Pegasus to help with the data entry.

She got to work and tried to forget about everything else. Her days became consumed with the software—slowly, methodically ticking off word after word in her notebooks. She set manual translations aside and worked very little on the devices. Hunching over papers was replaced with hunching over the computer and the days were long.

Sometimes Rodney was able to make time for her at lunch, but usually they just grabbed whatever was handy when they finally realized they were at that grouchy midday point. He always made a point of meeting her for dinner though. It became a habit to eat that hot meal with him at the last possible moment before the chafing trays were whisked away and then spending the rest of the evening with him alone in her quarters.

* * *

Her mind kept drifting as she worked.

She pushed it back to the words on the screen in front of her, a practiced mental gesture these days, and shook her head, smiling. Her thoughts were of him, of course. Time hadn't stilled the rush upon seeing him, nor the sense of being, somehow, bereft when they were apart. It seemed like he must feel the same way.

His moods were less turbulent than she had anticipated. He had issues, clearly, but didn't everyone? She had her own, of course, and she'd already confessed some of them to him. Discovering each other, learning about his world, his thought processes, and he, hers, was so much more than she'd imagined. He was playful sometimes, at times passionate, other times vulnerable. He told stories, teased her, made her feel beautiful and desirable. His strong work ethic melded well with her own. They could spend time each evening sitting across from each other, just working, happy to be in the same room together.

She'd always been disappointed, in the past, when friends started new relationships. They withdrew, engulfing themselves in that other person, the friendship losing something as the new lover took over a larger role in her friend's life. She'd always found it perplexing. She'd been resentful. But, suddenly, now, she understood.

Hunger had been gnawing at her for a while. She sipped her coffee and glanced at her watch. Rodney would be coming to collect her for dinner soon. His visits were so precisely timed, she suspected he set an alarm on his watch. The thought prompted an unconscious smile. She had a few more minutes, could strike a few more words from the list, before then.

Then he was there. She couldn't help it, she beamed. Normally, he smiled back, but tonight he looked tired and worried about something.

"Dinner?" was all he said.

"Yes, I'm starving."

He seemed to be lost in his thoughts.

It was salisbury steak night. One of his favorites, yet he didn't seem enthusiastic about it. They sat down with the food and Rodney continued to be uncharacteristically silent.

Finally she asked, "Is everything ok?"

"Hm? Oh, yes, yes, of course. I just had a really terrible day and tomorrow is probably going to be worse."

"What happened?"

He looked resigned. He rubbed the fingers of his right hand together for a moment, before speaking. "When we first got here, to Atlantis, we spent a fair amount of time exploring the city, obviously. We found a room on the east pier that was a game room." His fingers twitched in the air as he corrected himself. "That we _thought_ was a game room."

"It wasn't?" she asked curiously, spearing what looked like a mushroom in a pool of gray-brown gravy.

"As it turns out, no. We thought it was like the most incredible SIM game ever. You know that game?"

"Of course," she confirmed.

"Well, we thought we were playing a SIM game. Taking a primitive society and telling them what crops to plant, where to dig a well, dictating laws, giving them the tools to become an advanced society—like the roots of science and invention. It was the most multi-faceted, interesting, compelling game ever. There were two countries, divided by a river, and I took one and John took the other. It, ah, seemed harmless, at the time. We thought the Ancients surely had some form of recreation and that's all we thought it was." His face grew more lively as he described this game. His enthusiasm for it was clear.

She frowned. "But it wasn't a game?"

"Unfortunately no. Major Lorne went to a planet this morning. M4D-058. There were real people there that were literally living. . . the game. The things I had been typing into the game, they thought were coming from some benevolent god who was telling them how to structure their society."

"No," she said in disbelief. Her mind immediately went to the implications this might have on cultural development. Her first thought was how hollow and shallow cultural development would be with someone else dictating how it evolved—discovery and achievement being the very hallmark of what it is to be human and the cornerstone on cultural development—without that, the people would have nothing to be vested in.

He grimaced. "Yes. John and I, we were just having a good time. It was something to do with our free time. We seriously had no idea we were affecting anyone." He looked miserable.

She tried to imagine a best-case scenario. "That doesn't sound so bad. Regardless of whether you knew it was a game or not, your intentions would be good. To do well in the game, you would have to improve the lives of the people. That's the purpose of these games, right?"

"True. But, ah, John and I got really competitive about it." He looked like he didn't want to say any more.

"Something went wrong." She tilted her head and furrowed her brow. It wasn't a leap for her to imagine what that might be.

He sighed and put down his fork. "John and I couldn't come to agreements about trade. He started increasing his army and building fortifications." He looked at her plaintively, "It was just a game. We didn't know."

"The two communities became hostile toward each other?"

He sighed. "Yes. And now they won't see reason. Elizabeth wants us to fix this but they're being incredibly stubborn." He picked at his food. "She's going to try diplomacy herself in the morning. That's her thing, you know, thank God. We brought their leaders here today. If we can't convince them to get along, there's probably going to be a war."

"Oh, Rodney," she said mildly, thinking he was already beating himself up enough. He didn't need her to say anything negative, but her mind was leaping to thoughts of the innocent victims—families and children who could be torn apart with such a disastrous turn of events.

"See, I told you it was terrible." He looked distraught.

"What stage of development would you say these cultures were in?"

"Ah, I'd say late medieval, early renaissance. Something like that," he answered uncomfortably.

"Hm. I wish I weren't right in the thick of this data entry now. I'd really like a chance to see how this culture has developed with this kind of interference. It would be a unique opportunity to parse cultural norms when the development is applied externally. If you don't invent the wheel, does it have the same value? Maybe when this project is done, I could go take a look."

He seemed mildly alarmed at this suggestion.

She patted his hand. "I'm sure that Dr. Weir will be able to solve this. Her reputation as a diplomat is beyond reproach." She was thoughtful. "It seems odd that the Ancients would interfere in cultures in this manner. They must have been experimenting on some of the human cultures they seeded throughout this galaxy to see how fast they could evolve into technological cultures. It's a fascinating idea from a purely anthropological standpoint, but there are a lot of moral and ethical issues there that are really problematic. I would imagine all of this predates the war with the Wraith."

"Yeah. I came to the same conclusion," he said, and stabbed at a piece of the rubbery steak.

She felt piqued. "I have to say, this kind of interference strikes me as unnatural and wrong. It's one thing to run a simulation or to observe a culture and it's quite another to play god with people's lives. The Ancients seemed to forget rather frequently that they were human too. Sometimes I'm ashamed that I'm descended from them. They were too ambitious. Their failures were on such a grand scale. I think we as a people are more cautious and more noble. We may not have come as far as they did—yet—but I hope that when we do we will retain our honor and humility."

He nodded, looking thoughtful. "Well said."

"While they were up to this, they were also busy creating the Wraith problem. Then they did everything in their power to escape the hell they'd created in this galaxy, leaving all these people to just deal with it—without their guidance. No one is left to fix this mess. It's up to us now, isn't it?" She shook her head and spat out bitterly, "How humbling it must have been when they escaped to their refuge on Earth—only to find their ancestral home completely overrun by primitives without any technology whatsoever."

He nodded, smirking, saying, "Hm. Too bad the Goa Uld weren't there yet to give 'em hell." They were finishing up the meal. "Well, I'm done with work for the day, how about you?"

He looked more relaxed and cheerful now, and a little bit expectant.


	20. Chapter 20 comminatio threat

The next morning Emily settled into her lab with a big mug of coffee, ready to work. She looked up when Dr. Weir knocked at the door a few minutes later. "Oh, Dr. Weir, please come in."

"I'm on my way to some negotiations, but I thought I would stop in for a moment. Have you checked your email yet this morning?"

"I just arrived. Has something happened?"

"We had an unscheduled data burst a few minutes ago. The SGC wants you to know that Dr. Daniel Jackson will be arriving in two weeks to help you with the data entry for the translation software. He was recently captured by the Ori and is currently in recovery, but he is eager to join you to work on this project and will come as soon as he is able." Weir seemed to be watching her reaction closely.

"Oh my God. Is he ok?" Emily stood, shocked.

"I don't know the details, but I must assume he is or he wouldn't be planning to make the trip so soon." Weir hesitated, then seemed to come to a decision. "Dr. Freedman, you should be aware that when you came through from Earth, I was advised by the SGC that you were involved in a romantic relationship with Dr. Jackson. Now, I'm hearing rumors that you're involved with Dr. McKay. This concerns me."

"Oh." Emily gaped and struggled to come up with a reply. "I'm afraid you were misinformed, Dr. Weir."

"About which relationship?" Weir looked skeptical.

"About Dr. Jackson. We went on a couple of dates. We weren't romantically involved."

"I see." Weir fixed her gaze squarely on Emily and continued, "Then I trust your involvement with Dr. McKay will not affect your work, or his?"

"Of course not," she stammered, surprised that such a statement was necessary.

"Good. Because there is no one more capable in two galaxies than he is at solving the many problems we face here in Atlantis. I don't want to lose my best scientist to an ill-fated, romantic dalliance."

Emily's eyes widened with shock at this response but Weir had already swept out of the room. She sank back in her chair and tried to comprehend what had just happened. She was surprised one person could say so much with so few words. Weir was suspicious of her for some reason, though beyond the inaccurate allegation of her relationship with Daniel, she couldn't understand why.

She felt shaken. If she had somehow earned Weir's negative opinion, that could be hard to shake, and could make a continued existence here tenuous. She just hoped Dr. Weir would give her a chance to change her mind. She would have to strive to maintain behavior that was completely above reproach by any possible means of interpretation.

A couple of hours later, Rodney popped his head into her lab and pounded on the doorframe a couple of times with his open palm. "I just thought you should know that I'm heading back to the planet. I won't be back for lunch and probably not dinner. I'll be lucky if I get an MRE, or something today. Why don't you eat dinner with Zelenka? I told him to come get you at dinnertime, ok?"

"What? Rodney, wait a minute."

"Can't talk now. I'm late," he said, gesturing behind him with his thumb.

Over the radio, she heard Sheppard's exasperated voice, "McKay! We're waiting in the jumper bay!"

Rodney pointed at his ear, "See? Keep your radio on. I'll call you when I get back." He nodded and waved, before turning and swiftly walking off.

She sat back down, stunned for the second time that day. She just hoped he would be safe today and that the cultures he was negotiating with didn't go to war while he was still there.

* * *

When Radek stopped by at dinnertime she raised her eyebrows at him. "So you're my surrogate dinner date, today, I see?"

Radek looked uncomfortable. "So it appears."

"I'm sorry. I hope he didn't make it some kind of order. I can't imagine what he's thinking!"

Radek frowned. "He's thinking you're too skinny and can't afford to miss any more meals. You do realize that you rarely eat lunch and starved yourself for three days during the whole ascension thing?"

She sighed. "Leave it to a scientist to say exactly what he's thinking." She narrowed her eyes at him. "Is that what he actually said to you?"

Radek looked at the ceiling, his lips pursed, then said, "It was inferred."

She rolled her eyes and said in Czech, "Let's go."

She liked hearing Radek's stories of growing up in Czechoslovakia. Though his family had been poor, they'd been happy and had managed well, including sending their gifted son to University where he'd thrived.

A couple of other Czech nationals joined them. Talk turned to general base talk—who was working on what project and how those projects were faring. She was glad she was getting the opportunity to meet more people. She still hadn't met very many people outside of Rodney's circle.

She mentioned that to Radek as they walked back to their respective labs.

"Have you given any more thought to coming to karaoke tonight? You could meet people from across the base. Military and science. All types attend."

"I guess I could. It sounds like Rodney won't be around this evening. Should I bring anything?"

"No. Just yourself. We take turns bringing in alcohol. Last month someone brought Jagermeister which was nice. I'm not sure who's turn it is this month."

She smiled. "Ah, Jagermeister—not as good as Becherovka, though, I bet?"

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. "You know your Central European liqueurs? No, not as good. But easier to get." He smiled and ambled back to his lab.

She worked for a couple more hours, then went back to her quarters to change into some casual clothes before wandering into the spacious room that had been converted into a karaoke club for the evening.

Tables and chairs were arranged in a half-circle around a platform, co-opted as a stage. A full-sized mic had been set up, as well as a video screen to display the lyrics, and some imposing speakers. There was actually quite a crowd already assembled. They were milling around, mingling, and listening as a young woman belted out, "Love is a Battlefield."

Emily edged around the room, looking for a familiar face, when Radek bounced up to her, face florid and smiling. He had clearly been drinking for a while. "Emily! Come meet some people. We are drinking some stout stuff tonight! We have some really nice vodka and my friend Leo has brought out the first batch from his new still."

She raised her eyebrows at that and he hunched a bit and grinned. "Oh, shush now. It's perfectly safe, I assure you!"

He turned, ushering her into a cluster of people and started introducing her. Someone pressed a stainless steel mug in her hand. She sniffed it, not sure if it was the vodka or the home brew because it was clear. It seemed to have a faint piney odor and she wondered what she was getting herself into. She felt out of place and uncomfortable, but knew she had to start somewhere. She was never going to meet anyone if she spent all her time in her quarters and her lab.

She took an experimental sip of the drink and concluded it must be the home brew, distilled in the style of gin, it seemed. It wasn't bad. It warmed her quickly, relaxing her tense muscles. She reminded herself to go easy. There wasn't anything to water it down with—no need to repeat her last disastrous adventure with exotic alcohol.

It appeared to be 80's night, which was good because it meant happy pop music; no one would be droning 'Stairway to Heaven.' Radek urged her to add her name to the list of performers but she demurred. She wasn't about to drink enough to let loose of her inhibitions the way she had in grad school. She scanned the room and made eye contact with someone familiar standing nearby—the nurse that had come through the intergalactic bridge with her.

The woman sidled up to her. "Dr. Freedman. How are you adjusting to Atlantis?"

"Well, I guess. I'm sorry, I seem to have forgotten your name?"

"First Lieutenant Nancy Wagner." She nodded and pointed to the cup in Emily's hand. "Leo's moonshine?"

"Yes, I think so. Tastes sort of like gin, I guess."

"I'd watch out for him. He's, um, persistent." Wagner frowned slightly and raised her eyebrows. "In fact, I hope you'll forgive me, but I'm going to make myself scarce right now." Emily watched in confusion as Wagner turned and walked away.

The scientist Lt. Wagner spoke of materialized, asking Emily if she liked the spirit she was drinking. He topped off her drink before she could protest and began to regale her with information about his still and his occupation on Atlantis. He was a geologist that went out on survey teams and in his spare time he liked to tinker with a still, attempting various types of distilled spirits.

She excused herself when Radek stopped by to tell her that Rodney was calling for her on the radio. She stepped out in the corridor, where it was quieter, to answer the call.

"This is Dr. Freedman. Dr. McKay, are you there?"

"Emily. Yes. We just got back. Zelenka says you're at the karaoke thing? Stay put. I'll meet you there. I'm in the infirmary for my post-mission checkup. It'll be another twenty minutes."

Emily turned, intending to slip back into the music-filled room, and bumped into Leo. He had apparently followed her. He seemed intent on expounding on his still and how it functioned. She maintained a patient, blasé demeanor and sidestepped back into the room, Leo not noticing that she was trying to get away.

Radek grabbed her shortly thereafter, pulling her toward the back of the room. "You should meet Bertrand. He studies languages as a hobby. He's a French engineer, only here for a short time." Radek pushed her into Bertrand's orbit and wandered away. She noted Leo had followed, insinuating himself, as she introduced herself to Bertrand.

Bertrand seemed taciturn, so she was about to excuse herself when Leo mentioned she was a linguist. Bertrand narrowed his eyes and rattled off a comment in what she could only guess was arcane old French. She answered him as best she could, perplexed by this. He then shot off a question in an obscure German dialect and she answered him in kind, as well as she could manage. She watched, nonplussed, as he bid her good day in what she could only guess was Frisian. She surmised she had not passed his test, and tried to keep her amusement to herself as Bertrand moved away in a huff. Rodney's ego had a rival in that guy.

Leo was pressing another drink into her hand. She wasn't sure where she had left the first one and tried to refuse it, but he was very insistent. He congratulated her on her repartee with Bertrand, which she thought was strange since he couldn't have had any idea of what they'd said. Finally, she took the drink hoping it might give her a way to extricate herself, but he kept blocking her way and blathering about something.

She couldn't really tell what he was saying because he was somewhat soft-spoken and she had inched close to the speakers in an attempt to find Radek or just get closer to the crowd to possibly join another conversation. She looked around and could see Radek across the room, his hands animated in front of his face as he tried to communicate something to her. She hoped he would facilitate extraction. She waved to him and tried again to excuse herself from Leo so she could look to see if Rodney had arrived, but Leo wasn't cooperating. He was getting more forward now, touching her arm in an unwelcome way, and expounding dramatically about something, maybe an unusual mineral composite he'd discovered. She wasn't sure. The fact that he kept finding creative ways to block her escape was all that she was really certain of.

She was about to lose her temper when a hand gripped Leo's shoulder from behind and he swung around, revealing Rodney with a sneer on his face. While she hadn't heard much of what Leo had been saying, she heard every word that Rodney enunciated in Leo's face.

"The lady is trying to get by. Kindly step out of her way."

Leo shrugged off Rodney's grasp and seemed to think about challenging him for a second before he noticed Rodney was still in off-world gear, a gun strapped to his thigh. Then he backed down and turned away. Rodney grabbed her arm and started leading her toward the entrance.

After a moment of shock, she shook him off. He frowned at her and put his arm around her instead, still guiding her to the room's entrance, one shoulder hunched forward with determination. As they neared the door, Radek pounced on her from the side, exclaiming he had someone else for her to meet. When he saw Rodney's thunderous expression, though, he raised his eyebrows and backed away.

She waved at him, ignoring Rodney's foul mood for the moment. "I'll see you tomorrow, Radek," she called. Then she followed Rodney out into the hallway.

"What the hell was that?" he asked in an exasperated tone. He seemed calmer now, but she didn't like where this was going.

"What is this? 1952? What do you mean what the hell was that?"

He looked tense and his speech was clipped. "You've been drinking, haven't you?"

"Last I checked I was over 21, Dr. McKay." She felt defensive. She wasn't sure what had just happened. What had gotten him so angry?

"You do realize that the men outnumber the women on this base by about four to one. That room could be full of predators." His eyes were darting around and he was shifting his weight from foot to foot. He was angry, she thought, but not completely sure of himself.

She grabbed his arm and forced him to look at her. "I can handle myself, McKay. I wasn't having any trouble."

"What, you liked that guy?" He looked deflated.

"Of course not! I was trying to get away from him so I could find _you_. I would have managed it eventually. He's just a boring old geologist doddering on about his. . . geology stuff. You didn't need to get so mad. You probably gave him a heart attack with your combat vest and your gun and your machismo."

He sat down on the edge of one of the white lounge chairs that dotted the hallway. "Machismo, huh?" He rubbed his face with his hand. "Do you have any idea how hot you are?"

"What are you talking about? Don't be ridiculous. What's gotten into you?"

"You seriously don't, do you? You don't see the way guys look at you." He shook his head.

"I like it when you look at me." She sat down next to him. "I don't understand why you're so mad."

He lowered his voice and grit out, "Emily, that guy wanted to sleep with you."

She rolled her eyes. "No, I really don't think so and anyway it doesn't matter because I'm not interested in anyone else. How can we be having this kind of conversation? We've been dating for what, five minutes? This is silly. Let's just go. You must be hungry. Let's go get something to eat."

"What's that?" He pointed at the cup in her hand.

She hesitated. Why was she still holding that stupid cup? "Gin."

"Let me guess, the geology professor was keeping it full for you?" he asked sarcastically.

She sighed with exasperation. "Ok. So I'm oblivious. Completely oblivious. I think we already established that. Are you happy now?" She set the cup on the floor. "I've managed this state of complete and utter oblivion, without any major mishaps, for more than thirty years. I've never gotten myself into a pickle that I couldn't manage to get out of on my own in all that time—and now, tonight, you decide that I was about to be attacked in a room full of people singing karaoke?"

He huffed and shook his head. "I never said that."

"What are you saying?"

"I don't know. I'm tired. I just walked into that room and I didn't expect to find some guy. . . hassling you. I may have overreacted. A little."

"A little?"

"Ok. I'm tired. I'm hungry. I had a terrible day and, yes, I totally overreacted. A lot. I'm sorry. You're right."

"Look—I would have handled it. I don't need to be rescued."

"Ok," he said tiredly.

She sighed and then looked up. "Do you hear that?" She stood up and walked over to the stained-glass doors and peered back into the room. The dulcet tones of a U2 ballad were coming from within. "Do you know who that is—singing?"

He looked confused and annoyed. "No."

"Guess," she said with wide eyes.

"I'm sure I have no idea, Emily," he said dryly.

"That's Radek! Wow, he's pretty good, too."

He stood up. "Are you too mad to help me find some food?"

"Of course not. Which way is the mess from here?"

* * *

They grabbed a couple of sandwiches and waters in the mess and then walked to Rodney's quarters so he could get rid of his gear. She examined the photos and plaques he had so carefully arranged on the wall while he changed. He came out of the bathroom holding up his toothbrush. "I'm too tired to beat around the bush. Am I invited over tonight, or not, and if I am, am I allowed to bring my toothbrush?"

She giggled. "Yes and yes." She was surprised he felt he needed to ask. He stayed over every night. And why hadn't she thought about the toothbrush sooner? She sat down on the bed and opened a bottle of water as he proceeded to pack a small overnight bag.

He flopped down on his stomach beside her and opened a sandwich. "You know, your bed is surprisingly comfortable. I could totally sleep in tomorrow. It is technically Sunday, tomorrow, you know."

"On Earth?" she asked. She wasn't clear on how time might be different on this planet. They still got up when the sun came up was all she was sure of.

"Yep. We don't really observe much in the way of time off, here, do we?" he commented.

"I didn't observe much in the way of time off back on Earth either," she replied.

"Want to take the day off tomorrow? Stay in bed all day?" He was trying to be nonchalant; he didn't even look up from his sandwich.

She felt a pulse of excitement shoot through her, but Weir's warning from the morning was still ringing in her ears. She put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. "Tempting. Maybe just sleep in a little? I've got a lot of work to do."

"You don't have a deadline anytime soon. I am your boss after all." He rolled over, laid his head on her thigh, and looked up at her with big innocent eyes.

"You're very bad, Dr. McKay. But I do have a deadline. Dr. Jackson is coming in a couple of weeks. I just heard this morning."

"Oh, that guy?" He scrunched up his face. "Please. He's not your boss. I am. You need a day off. You work too much."

"I do? What about you?"

"Exactly. You need a day off—with me."

"I don't know."

"What? It's just a day off. Elizabeth tells us we should take days off all the time."

She frowned. "She does? That's not the impression I got."

He looked like he was perplexed.

She decided to change the subject. "You shouldn't have asked Radek to babysit me today. That was embarrassing, Rodney."

"What? I just wanted you to have someone to eat dinner with. You like Radek. I don't know why, but you do."

"And he's non-threatening to your machismo?"

"Mm. My machismo. Don't remind me about that here. I don't have any of those little yellow square packets down here in my quarters." He shot her a devilish grin.

She smiled, a thrilling feeling settling low. "We'll have to put in a small emergency stash."

"Yes. My quarters are a lot closer to the mess and the labs."

"You're terrible." She thunked him on top of the head with her sandwich.

"Don't ruin a perfectly good sandwich. Don't you want it?"

"Not really." She handed it to him.

He picked up his bag and headed out to the hallway, starting to unwrap the second sandwich.

She followed. "Did Sheppard give you a hard time at breakfast after I left? I thought I heard the beginnings of something."

"Um. Yes." He pointed to himself dramatically. "He said if I don't stop walking around with this dumb smile plastered on my face, he won't let me go on any more missions. He said I'll get shot."

She chuckled. "That could be a problem. I intend on keeping you smiling."

That reminded her that she hadn't asked him about his mission. "I'm sorry. I didn't ask you how things went today. Did you convince them to get along?"

"Barely. It's going to be touch and go, but hopefully we got things straightened out. We're letting Elizabeth take over from here."

"Oh, that's good. You know, um. . . I've been thinking about something. I don't know what you might think about it."

"What's that?"

"Well, we're spending a lot of time together."

"Mm. Yes." His arm snuck around her.

She smiled. "You sleep over every night. . . ."

He raised his eyebrows.

"Well, you bringing a toothbrush—of course you should definitely have a toothbrush in my quarters. I don't know why I didn't think of it sooner. I just, I mean, isn't it silly that you waste so much time going back and forth between our quarters every day?"

"What are you saying?"

She took a deep breath and just blurted it out, "I've got a perfectly good shower and lots of closet space and well, my quarters are large—there's plenty of room for two people. Maybe you should bring some clothes and that fuzzy blue bathrobe up to my quarters?"

He caught her by the arms and looked giddy, "Really? You think so?"

She was taken aback by his enthusiastic response, "Don't you?"

"Well, it occurred to me, of course, as a practical thing, but I didn't know. . . I mean, it's so soon, isn't it?"

"What difference does it make? We're basically cohabiting anyway. How can a bathrobe and some clothes make a difference? It'll save some time. Time we can spend together, or at work. You think this is a big step?" She was suddenly worried that she had made a mistake bringing it up.

"Well, isn't it?" He looked confused.

"Let's not complicate things by putting a scary label on it. Let's just have fun, ok?" She put a hand on his chest and smiled playfully. "If things don't work out, I promise I won't throw all your things out here in the corridor and burn them. I'll be civilized."

His brow furrowed. "You think things won't work out?"

She rolled her eyes and said, "No! I think they will, silly." She glanced down the corridor. They were alone for the moment, so she reached up to plant a quick kiss on his lips to reassure him, but he surprised her by pulling her closer for something more amorous, his hand sliding down her backside, crushing her hips into his.

When they reached her quarters he reached in his pocket and pulled out a small object. He looked shy as he pressed it into her hand.

She mentally told the door to her quarters to shut behind them and opened her hand to reveal a nickel-sized gold charm with an intricate, crown design carved on it. She looked at him, surprised. "Where did you get this? It's lovely."

His chin was on her shoulder and he was hugging her from behind. He reached out a finger and flipped the charm over in her palm. The other side revealed a miniature portrait, like those commonly made in 15th to 18th century Europe, painted with impossibly small detail. It was a likeness of Rodney with a noble and condescending expression on his face. She gasped with surprise. "What on Earth? How? What is this?"

He shrugged and kept hugging her. "I downloaded some images into the game for fun. The people of Geldar got a little carried away with them. There were portraits of me everywhere. They offered me this one and I thought you might like it."

"Portraits of you? You aren't kidding, are you?" She tried to imagine how that could possibly happen.

"Mm. One of them is about twelve feet tall on the side of a building." He nuzzled her neck in that spot he knew drove her mad.

She breathed deeply, trying to stay focused on what he was saying, on the gift.

"Will you take me there? I want to see it." She turned to look at him. He was managing to look both embarrassed and proud of himself at the same time.

"I doubt it'll last long. They're pretty disillusioned with our interference."

He was nuzzling her neck again and she was having trouble concentrating.

"God, you're so hot," he murmured.

He pressed her close and his hands were wandering under her shirt. It wasn't long before she lost all conscious thought altogether.


	21. Chapter 21 proposito plan

Rodney finished going over the data from the long-range sensors collected over the last twenty-four hours. There was nothing remarkable there, today, so he got up and moved to another console, to go over the mission reports collected by scout teams exploring new worlds over the last few days. Mostly these reports were tedious at best, but sometimes something popped up that was interesting and warranted a second look.

Today, there was just such a report. A science team had been exploring an abandoned world devastated by a nuclear holocaust, centuries before. Ecologists were analyzing the planet's recovery and one of them happened to pick up an anomalous reading from one of the planet's moons. They did a fly by in a jumper and discovered what looked like a space station inside the moon which, incredibly, had been hollowed out.

Elizabeth walked by and Rodney caught her attention. "Hey, did you see this report yet?"

"The hollowed out moon? Yes. Looks right up your alley. Want to go?"

"Are you kidding? Absolutely. Who knows what kind of technology we could find there. I mean, the resources it must have taken to hollow out a moon would be astounding. This could be an incredible find. Of course, there were no life signs and the planet was abandoned and destroyed by a nuclear war, so, you know, that's a little creepy, but fascinating all the same." He looked back at the report, noting the size of the moon.

"Ok. Set up a mission for tomorrow, then." She started to walk away.

"Oh, ah, actually," he stood to regain her attention. "Could it wait another day or two? I'd like to take tomorrow off." He didn't know why he felt nervous about asking. He never took time off.

He'd finally convinced Emily to take a day off with him. It hadn't been easy and he was going to make it worth her while. He had plans. He was going to fetch her breakfast in bed; he'd arranged for flowers, candles—it was going to be a thing. He knew he wasn't the perfect boyfriend, but he was determined to show her that he was putting in some effort. She was amazing. He didn't have a clue how to make sure things didn't go off the rails, but he was going to be damned if he wasn't going to try to keep things on track.

"Is this what you wanted to talk about today?" She turned to face him, eyebrows raised.

"One of several things, actually." He looked around, uneasily, "Could we talk for a minute in your office?" He'd put off this interview long enough.

"Certainly." She gestured gracefully that he should precede her into her office. She settled behind her desk and looked expectant.

He hesitated. "So, I'd, ah, like to take the day off tomorrow."

"That's more than deserved. Let me guess—you intend to spend the day with Dr. Freedman?" Her eyebrows were raised, but not in the teasing, amused way everyone else used when they brought up Emily. Elizabeth didn't look amused. She looked wary.

He nodded and smiled like a loon. "Yes. Emily."

Her eyebrows drew together. "Ok. Things seem to be moving pretty fast between you two. John tells me you take most of your meals together now."

He shifted in his chair uneasily. Things weren't looking favorable for the request he planned to make. "Yes, yes. Well, ah, about that, I wanted to ask you, theoretically, if two expedition members wanted to, um, share quarters, would you give me the access codes to change the door controls so that two people could access the, ah, same quarters?"

Elizabeth looked somewhat perturbed, "You're already to that point? Just a couple of months ago, you came to me saying you thought she was a potential mole for some nefarious operation on Earth—now you want to move in with her?" She leaned back in her chair. "Rodney, I have serious reservations about this. You know things that could compromise the expedition if they were to get back to the wrong people."

_Damn._ He should have led with the other thing. "No, no, no, no, no. You see, I was all wrong about that. I've been meaning to tell you. I found out the reason she looked so strange when I asked her why she came to Atlantis and I was wrong. She isn't a mole. It's nothing like that at all."

"What's the reason?" She looked skeptical.

"It's personal," he said firmly. "You're just going to have to trust me that she isn't a threat."

"Rodney—" Elizabeth leaned forward like she was going to take him to task.

He lifted his chin and presented his evidence, interrupting her. "Elizabeth, I heard her thoughts on the matter when I was. . . about to ascend. She couldn't fake that. She has nothing but good and honest intentions here, I swear."

"I don't know." She was shaking her head, looking doubtful.

"Look, that's all I'm going to say on the matter. I'd stake my life on the fact that she isn't a threat."

Elizabeth tilted her head and seemed to decide to try another tactic. "Did you know she was in a relationship with Dr. Daniel Jackson before she came here?"

He shook his head, baffled that she would bring that up. "She went on a couple of dates with him. It didn't mean anything. I don't know what that has to do with this conversation."

"You don't think it could suggest a pattern?" She was raising her eyebrows again and studying his response.

He lifted his hands incredulously. "What? No. Don't be ridiculous. I don't understand why you're so concerned about this. We're just. . . dating."

Elizabeth shook her head and gave him a serious look. "It's more than just dating if you're moving in with her. Aren't you worried that this might split your focus?"

He sat up straighter and said emphatically, "No. No. I'm not. I'm perfectly capable of keeping my work separate from my private life. You never voiced any of these concerns when I was seeing Katie."

"Because you weren't serious about Katie and there weren't any suspicious circumstances regarding her intentions. You're a senior staff member, Rodney. You're vital to this mission and I do have reservations, concerns. I'm sorry if that makes you uncomfortable, but these are the tough questions I'm forced to ask."

"Don't you want me to be happy?" he asked, exasperated.

She leaned forward on her desk and pressed her lips into a thin line. "Of course. I just want to make sure you're thinking this through."

"I am. I mean, I have been. You don't need to worry. It's fine," he said firmly, some of his aggravation bleeding into his voice.

"Ok, then." She turned her focus to the laptop in front of her and said, "Take tomorrow off and set up the mission for the next day."

Now he was back to feeling uncomfortable again. "Oh. Ok. Well, that's the day Jackson is coming. I wanted to be here to brief him on the translation software."

"Ok. Do that in the morning and go on the mission in the afternoon." She sounded slightly exasperated. Then she looked at him pointedly. "Unless there is some other reason you need to stay for his visit? He will be here for two weeks."

"No, no. That should be fine," he conceded. He wasn't about to admit he was nervous about Jackson coming and finding out what Jackson's true intentions were, regarding Emily. He believed Emily when she said it had been nothing, but he was worried Jackson might be coming to try to win her back. He hadn't spent much time with Jackson, but he didn't like him. He was too friendly, too smarmy, and he wondered if that translated into charming when it came to women.

"Good. Ok. Are we done here?" Her focus was on the computer again.

He stood to go, then remembered. "The access codes? For the door controls?"

"Talk to Zelenka. We've had a few people pairing off and he's handled it in the past."

"Really? Huh."

"I'm surprised you asked me. You're perfectly capable of doing some kind of work around."

"Yes, yes, I could, but, ah, I thought it would be better to be straightforward," he admitted.

"You mean easier?" She didn't look up.

"Yes, that too," he said and left, feeling like he'd just had a heated discussion with his mother over a girlfriend she didn't like. He'd never had such a discussion with his own mother, but he guessed that's what it must feel like.

He cursed under his breath and went back to the console he'd been working at. He quickly finished the diagnostics and wrapped up everything else he'd been working on. Then he went to find Radek. He found him in one of the auxiliary labs, adjacent to the main lab.

"Radek, I've been looking for you. What are you doing?"

"I'm going over the data from Colonel Carter's anti-replicator weapon tech—looking for ways that we can improve upon it so they don't adapt so quickly to it."

That was something he'd been meaning to get to. Other, more pressing things kept getting in the way. He was glad Radek had started the project. "Anything useful?"

"Not yet." Radek looked up from the computer screen. "We can try other ways of randomly modulating the frequency, but the bandwidth is already impossibly small. I doubt it will effect much in the way of a tactical advantage. I think we're going to have to look for other ways of destroying the bonds between nanites. The only way we can keep ahead of them is with the element of surprise."

"Yes, I think you're right about that. I have a few ideas for some simulations we can run. I'm going to be busy for the next few days though." He frowned, hating the next words he had to say. "Actually, I came by to ask you a favor."

Radek turned away from the computer screen and pushed his glasses up his nose to peer at him, "Yes? What is it?"

"Elizabeth told me you have the access codes for changing the door controls for personal quarters access."

"Yes. I normally configure the assignments for new quarters. Are you moving? Something wrong with your quarters?" Radek looked mildly curious.

"Not exactly. You can also add a person—so that two people can access the same quarters?" He tried to sound blasé.

"Yes, I have done this a few times, for special requests. I don't understand." Radek raised one eyebrow and looked confused.

"Do I need to spell it out for you?" Why did Radek always have to pretend to be so infuriatingly dense?

"What? Oh, are you wanting to move in with Emily? That was fast!" Radek waggled his eyebrows and made a suggestive clicking noise in his throat.

"Will you arrange it for me, or do I need to do it the hard way?" Rodney asked sharply. He didn't need to listen to Radek's old woman prattle.

"I'll need to check with Dr. Weir—"

Rodney rolled his eyes and cut him off, "I just told you; I already talked to Elizabeth."

"And Emily? This will not be a surprise to her?" Radek was looking at him over the rims of his glasses, protectively. _What is it with everyone pretending to be a parental figure today?_

"What? I'm not stalking her. She asked me last week. Just do it, alright?" he ground out.

"Fine. It will only take a minute or two to reconfigure." Radek turned back to the computer.

"Thanks." Rodney relaxed a little bit. "I'm done for the day and I'm taking tomorrow off. I don't want to be bothered unless the city is blowing up."

"You're welcome. It's intriguing, you know. You never take time off. Emily must be a good influence on you." Radek shot him a knowing smile.

Rodney didn't say anything, just headed for the door.

"I don't know how you do it!" Radek called after him.

He stopped in his tracks and turned, exasperated. "What?"

Radek looked thoughtful. "Well, the base's population is only about twenty percent female, yet you've managed to date two women so far—both quite attractive. It's a mystery. I'm just curious how you do it?"

"I'm very charming," he said dryly and left. As he walked through the adjacent main lab, he could hear Radek muttering in Czech. He fleetingly wished Emily were there so she could tell him what he was saying, but didn't dwell on it long. He had some clothes to move and some plans to finalize, he thought, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.


	22. Chapter 22 crescere grow

Emily sensed the room was bright from behind closed lids. She drowsily turned over to look at Rodney. He liked to tease her that she slept like a dead person, yet he had his own sleeping superpowers—like the ability to sleep with a ray of sunshine on his face. She glanced at the clock. It was a big day for both of them and the alarm would go off soon.

A languid smile crept up on her lips. They'd spent so much time in bed over the last twenty-four hours, she should be restless, but she wasn't. She wanted to stay in this cocoon they'd built over the last day. Rodney had wheedled until she agreed to take a day off. She worried about it. Nothing seemed to escape Dr. Weir's attention, but he'd been so sweet and insistent about it, she'd finally given in. Truth be told, she couldn't think of anything she'd like to do more.

He'd brought her breakfast in bed and did his level best to keep her there as much of the day as possible. He'd managed to obtain a huge vase of wildflowers and some candles. It was adorable. They'd kept to themselves, only leaving her quarters to get food and go for a walk on one of the piers. They'd played, laughed, dozed, and talked seriously about so many things.

She'd described more of her past and coaxed him to tell her more about his family and childhood—what it'd been like growing up with a sibling. His parents were clearly a deep-seated source of angst. They'd fought, bitterly and often. Ignorant to his needs, they'd made him the scapegoat when anything went awry, while his sister played the role of the golden child who could do no wrong. As she listened to his litany of grievances, she could see how they'd fostered the personality quirks he harbored.

"You told me your dad was a physicist. What does your mother do?" She propped herself up on an elbow to watch him.

"She's a professor of applied mathematics," he said flatly. Then he volunteered, "She didn't cook much. We ate a lot of meals in the university cafeterias."

"Really? That's. . . unusual."

"Yeah. Well, food is food. It was fine. Sometimes I'd eat at my friend Darren's house though. His mom was an incredible cook. She'd make this pot roast—it was just amazing. We'd hang out and build models, play video games. His dad was an electrical engineer, so we'd mess around in the garage, building simple devices with stuff he had out there, or taking things apart and putting them back together. Sometimes we'd time each other to see how fast we could do it."

"What kinds of things?"

"Oh, anything. Phones, vacuums, whatever we could find. My parents wouldn't put up with that kind of stuff, but his parents were cool," he said, smiling. Then his smile fell. "Until I found out I was allergic to citrus—well, lemons, specifically—though the doctor told me to avoid all citrus at all costs, just to be safe."

"What? Why?"

"Well, because you never know—I mean, once you've had one bad reaction, there's no telling, really. The most minuscule amount could send you into anaphylaxis."

"No, I mean, why was it fun until you found out you were allergic to citrus? Why would that change anything? What happened?"

He frowned. "Hm. Well, I'd been having these itchy bumps that would come and go for a while. My mom told me it was nothing, just bug bites or something, to stop obsessing about it. I have terrible seasonal allergies. It drove her nuts that I was always sniffling and sneezing. That's been one great thing about living in Pegasus. The allergens are all different, so, you know, no allergies."

She waited while he seemed to contemplate that for a few moments before he continued, "Ah, so, anyway, one night his mom served this homemade lemon pie. It was incredible. I asked for seconds and um, thirds." He rolled his eyes and looked sort of embarrassed. "But, ah, midway through that third piece, I started having trouble breathing. It happened really, really fast, you know. I was covered in these bumps—turns out, they're called hives—and my throat was closing up. I nearly died. I was really, really lucky they got me to the hospital in time. When my parents got there, my mom said it was my fault because I was such a glutton. When Darren's mom heard that, well, I don't know what happened exactly, but I guess she blew a gasket. Darren told me at school that she laid into my mom. That was it. I wasn't allowed to go back to their house after that."

She was feeling a little angry herself, she found. "That's just awful. That wasn't your fault, Rodney. You were just a kid. You didn't do anything wrong—you know that, right?"

She frowned. It wasn't hard to imagine Rodney as a boy in sloppy, ill-fitting clothes, obsessed with taking apart common household items to figure out how they worked, lit up with enthusiasm when he understood some new principle. And they had callously taken that from him.

He shrugged. "It was up to me, then, to make sure I never ingested citrus again. For a while there, I read a lot of cookbooks. Not because I wanted to learn to cook or anything, but so I could make educated deductions about food before eating it."

She furrowed her brow, considering the gravity of allowing a child to fend for himself with something so serious and reached out to him, hugging him close. "How old were you when this happened?"

"Eleven," he said softly and sat up, pulling out of her grasp. "The thing is, I think I would be just as bad. I'm sorry, Emily. I don't think I'll make a very good dad," he said, looking sad and worried, his eyes darting over her face.

She rushed to reassure him, "Oh, no, Rodney, no—I'm sure that's not true. You shouldn't worry about that now, anyway. Let's not get ahead of ourselves."

"But you asked me about it that first night. You wanted to know then, what I thought, didn't you? I want you to know that. . . I've been giving a lot of thought to what you said." He looked back at her, troubled. "If that's what you want, there isn't much time left."

"Rodney. This is no place for children. And I can't imagine either of us wanting to leave here any time soon. Even if I was sure that's what I wanted, I don't see how it's going to happen organically."

He looked confused. "So, what are you saying? Are you saying you don't want to have kids?"

She fidgeted under his intense stare. "I guess I am. I'm not saying I won't ever change my mind. But as far as the near future goes, I'm not willing to give up my career or make radical changes to my life. Is that a problem?"

"No. No. But you could change your mind?" He looked confused and possibly hopeful.

She wished he would stop searching her face so intensely. She wasn't sure what she really felt about it and she was getting the impression that he wasn't either. Suddenly talking about that kind of future together. . . made everything seem so serious. "I'm getting mixed messages, Rodney. What are you thinking?"

He was rubbing his fingers together. "I don't know. Seeing my little sister so happy with her own family just made me think maybe I might want that one day. I think I'll want to get married at some point, maybe have kids." He smiled slightly, cautiously, and looked to see what she would say about that.

She sat up too, pulling her knees up to her chin under the sheet. "I guess I would have to say the same thing. Maybe. If everything fell into place so that it could happen that way. I don't know. Raising children is hard."

She laid back, pulling the sheet with her and put an arm over her eyes, trying to blot out the small faces that entered her mind unbidden.

"What's wrong?" He slid closer to her and lifted her arm.

She didn't want to confess, because it could change things, but couldn't lie and dismiss it. "It's. . . just the dreams—the children I dreamt about so often that they almost seemed real to me for a time."

"Jackson's kids," he said softly, wrinkling his brow.

_Crap._ He looked completely unnerved. Why had she brought this up?

"What were they like?" His fingers twined with hers.

_Oh, God._ He was trying to be sweet and understanding. _Rodney McKay, who knew? _ She darted a look at him. _Does he really want to know? _"They were. . . impossibly small. Needy. Sweet and wonderful and always sad, desperately sad. The smallest one had blonde curls that looked like mine," she said, and brushed away a tear that suddenly snuck out. "The impression I have is that it was hard—terribly, awfully hard and I don't think I was good enough for them. You. . . aren't the only one afraid you might be terrible at parenting." She spared him a fearful glance.

"Hm." He looked worried. "But it isn't going to happen that way."

"No," she said with conviction. "They will never exist." She couldn't help herself, though, she had to admit, "And I don't know why, Rodney. I know it sounds insane, but that makes me feel sad."

He slowly laid back on the pillow next to her and stared at the ceiling, deep in thought, his fingers squeezing hers gently.

She closed her eyes and swallowed. She had taken an uncomfortable conversation and pushed it to a new level of discomfort. Why did she have to be so bad at this? _I'm going to ruin it._ Men didn't want to hear this kind of stuff. She suddenly found herself terrified. She was damaged goods. Why would he want to put up with that? "I've upset you. I'm sorry."

"No. It's fine. I was just thinking that the timing is bad right now, but maybe in a few years we might consider it, if conditions are favorable, right? And maybe something will happen—Earth is populated with thousands of people that are the result of failed birth control—it might be out of our hands."

She felt a twinge of some inexplicable, profound emotion. He thought they'd still be together in a few years. He could imagine himself having children with her. She hadn't ruined anything by telling the truth.

She sighed with relief and her vision blurred with wetness. "You might be right, I suppose."

She felt the urge to get out of bed then, to shower, dress, and get outside to breathe some fresh air. She could tell he was a little disappointed, but he didn't fight it, and they went walking on one of the piers.

Once outside, she was able to shake off the confusing specter of the dreams, basking in the bright, sunlit day. Rodney rambled about various missions, some of which had been insanely dangerous. He didn't spare any of the gory details. He seemed oddly fascinated by his own survival. He told her about being trapped in a puddle jumper that had sunk to the bottom of the ocean, how a man named Griffin had saved his life that day.

She grabbed his arm and watched his expression closely. "He sacrificed himself to save you?"

"Yes. He was very brave," he said quietly.

"That's horrible, just horrible," she whispered.

"Yes." He glanced at her briefly, then out to sea again.

"You've lost too many good people here," she said softly. She watched his face, but he didn't betray any emotion, just nodded and looked down. "That must have been terrifying to be alone and watch the water rise."

His eyes darted at her. He swallowed and said, "Yeah."

"You said you were hallucinating?"

"Oh, yeah. I had a concussion, a bad one." He touched his head like it might still be tender there.

"What did you hallucinate?"

He shifted as though he were uncomfortable with the topic and said, "It's not important."

"Why? Was it something horrible?"

"No." He glanced at her. "It was just Carter."

She felt her eyebrows raise. "Carter? Colonel Carter, from the SGC?" She couldn't stop the small knowing smile that crept up on her lips.

He caught her look. "What? She was the one person I knew would be smart enough to help me get out of there. It was my subconscious mind trying to work through the problem," he said defensively.

She nodded solemnly, quashing her amusement instantly. "Of course. She would be the one to consult."

His eyes narrowed and he looked perturbed. "What do you know?"

"I. . . just. . .it's no big deal. How did they rescue you?"

"What's no big deal?" he asked suspiciously.

"Rodney," she faltered.

"What's no big deal?" he repeated, a little louder.

"What? So, you have a crush on her. Who wouldn't? I think I do, a little, myself, for goodness sakes. I mean, she's beautiful, she's nice, she's brilliant—she's saved Earth more times than I can keep track of. It's ok. It's no big deal. You hallucinated an incredibly intelligent, gorgeous woman to help save you. If I were stuck in a sinking jumper with a concussion, I would hallucinate you, or her, or both, right?"

He frowned, looking down at his hands and muttered, "Not have—had—and how would you know about that?" He glanced at her morosely.

She shook her head, mystified by his reaction. "Rodney, I told you before that I asked people about you. . . sort of covertly, before I left Earth. She and Daniel are on the same team. I ate meals with them occasionally—pretty rarely, actually, but sometimes. Once she found out I was transferring here, she mentioned working with you when Teal'c was stuck in the buffer and when Anubis attacked the gate. I'd heard the stories before, of course, but not from her perspective. I was off-world when the thing with Teal'c happened. I came back through the Russian gate. When the Anubis thing happened, they sent all non-essential personnel home. So, we never got a chance to meet then, not that I left the lab much or anything, but isn't that weird?"

He ignored their near miss at meeting years before and focused on what Carter had said. "What did she say?" he demanded.

"Well, just that you disagreed about how to approach those problems and. . . I gathered from the general conversation. . . that there was an. . . attraction."

"Hm. What else?" He looked at her suspiciously.

"What do you mean?"

"What did she say?" he demanded, clearly incensed.

"Rodney, why are you getting so upset? It hardly matters. You work in the same field. You're both competitive. That was obvious."

"It's unprofessional," he barked. "She shouldn't have been gossiping about me."

"It wasn't like that. She only said nice things. She said you're brilliant."

He was clearly getting frustrated with her. "Everyone knows that. I want to know the negative things she said."

"She didn't say anything negative, Rodney—that's not her style—but everyone else at the table did!" she grit out.

He stared at her hard for a moment, then looked down and said, "Oh." He looked chastened.

Seeing his expression made her feel guilty. She let the anger fall away and leaned against him, saying softly, "You know you have a reputation. That's not news to you, Rodney. I had an advantage, I guess, because of the dreams. I knew there was more to you than bluster. There's so much more to you than that. You're like, I don't know, a walnut or something. Get past that crusty outer shell and there's something delicious inside."

He sighed. "A walnut, huh?" He glanced at her, huffing softly.

She pulled on his arm. "Everyone has flaws, Rodney. I know that better than anyone. I'm oblivious to important things. I have a temper too and then there's the device in my head. The bottom line is, I still came here. After spending time with you, seeing glimpses of your softer side, I wanted to really know you and now. . . I just want to be with you."

He returned her frank gaze. "I know and honestly, I find that baffling. I keep waiting for the other shoe to fall, for that one fatal screw-up I know I'm going to make that's going to push you away."

"That isn't going to happen."

"How can you be so sure?"

"I just am. I trust you. We may both of us make mistakes but we can also forgive, right? And, how dare you sell yourself so short? You're baffled that I want to be with you? How could you even think that? You're an incredible individual. So you have a big personality—what's wrong with that? You're intelligent, resourceful, passionate about your work. I find that very appealing. You're also caring, tender. I know it's hard for you to show that side of yourself, but you're sharing it with me, today. Don't say things like that, Rodney. Don't think them either."

He touched her cheek and kissed her gingerly. He seemed to be moved, touched, by her words and she was surprised by how deeply that affected her. "You're amazing. I don't deserve you," he murmured into her hair.

"Sure you do. Who else would put up with either one of us? I hate to tell you, but you're stuck with me." She smiled at him devilishly.

"Hm." He shook his head, then looked back her, perplexed. "But. . . how did you get here?"

"What? I came through the gate." She chuckled, mystified.

"No, how did you make it this far without someone else. . . ."

She looked up at the fluffy white clouds drifting by. "I told you that. I never really dated."

"But why?"

"I'm. . . shy. You know that. What is this? Emily Freedman 101? You've already passed this course."

"No. I'm working on the 400 level course now. You're not that shy, Emily. There's more to it than that, isn't there?" He took her hand.

"You sound like Dr. Ali, the psychologist at the SGC."

He looked down and said quietly. "I've had a lot of practice on the other side of the couch."

She knew that. He hadn't hid it from her, which she thought was brave. He had a full complement of paranoias, but that wasn't why he saw Dr. Heightmeyer every Wednesday afternoon. It was the responsibility, the survivor's guilt. She'd hit the nail on the head that day when he'd brought her the shield. It was true. He carried a heavy burden.

She blew out a ragged breath. She guessed it was her turn to divulge secrets. "Dr. Ali didn't think much about my experience with the gate, which was the official reason I was there, of course. He thought I had deeper issues I needed to deal with and that the gate thing would resolve once I dealt with them. He was wrong about that, you know."

He sighed. "Yeah. It's not a real science."

"Neither is archeology—or so you once said."

He smirked. "They have their place."

She rolled her eyes.

"You don't want to tell me now? I just spilled my guts, here, you know."

"I know. I'm sorry. I. . . it's complicated. I'm not even sure. . . the psychologist, he said it's all about my dad. I told you how he died when I was young. Well, my childhood was filled with adults, but they were all women—aunts, tutors, my mom's friends. My mom dated once, for a while, and he—I didn't like him. No idea why, really. Dr. Ali really probed that for a long time but there wasn't really anything to tell. I think he thought I was holding something back, some trauma, but I wasn't. I don't know. My dad was gone and there were no men to fill the void."

"Hm." Rodney was studying her.

She thought she'd feel self-conscious when she finally told him this stuff, but it didn't feel too bad. It was all in the past, after all.

"It's not like I had a lot of time to practice my social skills. I wasn't out there in the neighborhood playing with other kids my age—I was studying. It may be easier for me than it is for other people, but I still learned the languages by rote. I never cared about looking cool, chasing boys, or fitting in. I wasn't a typical girly-girl. Boys were an unknown entity. They seemed. . . foreign, unpredictable, or something. I don't know what it was, really. When I got to college, I tried to catch up, figure it all out, but it was bewildering. I could see that I was socially immature or something. I didn't know how to flirt. I didn't know when boys were interested. I couldn't see the signs. I still don't, obviously—you know that."

"But you never dated at all?"

"I did. Some. I had some. . . bad experiences and I just quit trying after a while. It was too hard, too painful. I was lonely, but I had plenty of work to do. I convinced myself it was enough. At some point I decided it was probably too late to try to figure it all out, I guess. That, and I hadn't really met anyone that seemed. . . worth trying for."

"But you dated Jackson," Rodney said, frowning.

"After some therapy and a long friendship, yes. But the dreams put an end to that. I've already told you all that. So, this concludes the coursework for Emily 424. I think we can skip the final exam, since you're a genius and all. Ready to move on to graduate level courses now?"

"What's on the syllabus?"

She snorted softly and laid back on the pier, embracing the warmth emanating from the foundation. "Do you think it's weird that we don't use any terms of endearment with each other?"

He turned to look back at her. "What do you mean?"

"Um. Pet names. On sitcoms, couples always call each other stuff like snooky-bear or pookie-face or, I don't know, poopsie—something silly like that, don't they? Is that real, do you think? Do people really do that—or is that just for comedic effect?"

He huffed. "I don't know. Do you want me to call you something like that?"

She grinned. "I don't know. I don't feel like a 'Poopsie.'"

"Mm. Me either. I could call you. . . sweetheart?" It sounded weird. Forced. He shrugged. It didn't feel right to him, either, she could tell.

She sighed. "Let's just stick with Emily and Rodney, for now. My mom, and some of my friends, call me Em. If you want, you could try that."

His brow furrowed. "Ok."

"Mmm. Doesn't the sun feel glorious? I could sleep here like this, if I hadn't already slept half the day away."

She could see his gaze heating up. God, she loved it when he looked at her that way—just like the dream. No, better than the dream. He laid back too, shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand.

"Do you think anyone can see us out here?" she asked. "I mean, we must be just specks out here, right?"

He looked back toward the towers and said, "What do you have in mind?"

She giggled. "You could get a really terrible sunburn. . . ."

His eyes flared. "Hm. I might be willing to take that risk."

* * *

He twitched in his sleep, bringing her back to the present. It was fascinating how his personality was so dichotomous. So intensely bright, so insightful and confident when it came to anything in his world of science and technology—yet, with her, when she thought she was being so clear about her feelings for him, he was still so unsure at times. She worried that it was the device—that he didn't trust her feelings were real. She'd come close, a couple of times, to telling him that she loved him. She wanted to, but didn't know how, didn't know when was the right time. Things were happening fast, but they weren't teenagers anymore.

By the sound of it, his history with women was just as messed up as hers with men, though for entirely different reasons. While she had never let anyone get close enough to try for anything real, he had tried and failed on several occasions—his combination of overconfidence and insecurity wreaking havoc with nearly every attempt to make that vital connection.

Today he was going on a mission, one he was intensely excited about. She hadn't said anything to him, but she had a strange feeling of dread about it—increasingly difficult to ignore. It had to be normal to worry, especially after hearing all those stories. But this was who he was. She had to accept it.

She glanced at the clock again. The alarm would go off in another minute. She looked at his dreamy expression and wondered what it would be like to wake up to a kiss instead of a jarring alarm, so she shut it off and softly set her lips on his. His lips, at first lifeless and still, soon came to life, and his limbs moved to embrace her. She pulled back to look at him as his eyes slowly opened. He blinked and rasped, "Good morning," in his rusty, sleep-choked voice.

"Was that a nice way to wake up?" she asked lightly.

"Mm. I'm not the only one who's waking up." He grinned, glanced at the clock, and rolled her over, settling his weight gently on top of her.

"I can see that," she giggled and looked into his eyes, burning blue with desire. They had danced this same dance many times and it never, ever got old.


	23. Chapter 23 conluctio struggle

Daniel was due any minute. Emily stood uneasily between Rodney and Dr. Weir in the control room, waiting for the gate to light up. Rodney seemed tense and wasn't talkative in the least, although she didn't have any idea why. Weir, she suspected, was going to be watching her interact with Daniel very closely and she worried that their friendly familiarity could cause trouble, but after rejecting Daniel's advances, she knew she couldn't bring herself to shun his friendship as well. She was excited to work with him again, delving into the Ancient language in the odd way they had developed after years of arguing over nuance and meaning in translation work.

Finally the circular machine started to rumble and Chuck, behind them, announced the incoming wormhole. The vortex broke on the level below and settled into the familiar blue puddle. Moments later, a puddle jumper came through and ascended into the ceiling of the gate room. She followed Weir and Rodney up the steps to the jumper bay.

As they approached the jumper, the rear hatch opened and Daniel stepped out. He smiled warmly, saying, "Emily," and dropped his bags, opening his arms for a hug.

She forgot about consequences. She was glad to see him and smiled, embracing him lightly, briefly, in the way of a well-missed friend. She stepped back, turning to Rodney and Weir. Weir betrayed no emotion. Rodney looked shocked but quickly recovered. She pasted the smile back on her face and said, "I think you know everyone here, Daniel?"

"Indeed. Elizabeth, Rodney, good to see you both again. I've been meaning to get back to Atlantis for some time and luckily Emily has provided just such an opportunity. I'm ready to work, if you'll show me the way. No need for pleasantries and such."

Weir looked slightly surprised. "Wouldn't you like to settle your things in the guest quarters first?"

"Not at all. Let's get to it, shall we? I understand there's a lot to be done, and I've only got two weeks free, so I don't want to waste any time."

"I'll have someone take your bags to your quarters, then, and someone can escort you there when you're ready. I'll leave you in Dr. Freedman and Dr. McKay's care for now. It's a pleasure to have you back, Dr. Jackson." She extended her hand and they shook. Rodney stood back and nodded, looking uncomfortable.

"Thank you. Emily?" he gestured that she should lead. She started forward and Rodney and Daniel fell into step on either side of her. "So, how are you finding Atlantis, Em?"

"I love it here," she said and smiled at Rodney. "I wish I'd come with the original expedition."

"I thought you might. You certainly took some convincing. I hope they've been taking advantage of your considerable skills and putting you to good use?"

"I suppose so. There's so much here, it's mind-boggling."

"I can imagine it is. I wish Landry would give me longer than two weeks, but that was all I could get out of him, for now." He paused and said, "I was glad to hear about your breakthrough with the mysterious gate illness you suffered—really interesting. Have you had any opportunities to go off-world since then?"

"Yes, once, and the reaction I experience now is greatly reduced—minimal, really. I'm hoping that after the database translation project is finished, I'll be assigned to a team and start going on missions regularly again."

"You are?" Rodney broke in, looking confused, maybe even upset. "You've never mentioned that."

"It's been on my mind a lot lately. I thought I'd wait until this project is near completion before bringing it up with Dr. Weir. There are ruins in this galaxy that need to be explored."

Rodney looked surprised, then lost in thought, and Daniel was perusing them curiously. She smiled at him nervously.

"How's Vala?" she asked as Rodney tapped the transporter key that would send them down a few floors to the science lab level.

"Ah, Vala is Vala. Why do you ask?"

She sent Daniel a knowing look. "I always kind of thought something might happen between you two?"

He looked at her like he thought she was crazy and she laughed at his expression.

"I guess cupid's arrow has not found its mark?"

"Ah, no," he snorted. "It's good to hear your laugh again, Em. We've missed you at the SGC. Marci sent along some gifts for your birthday next month, by the way. They're in my bags. I'll get them for you later."

"Your birthday's next month? You didn't tell me that," Rodney said, looking alarmed.

"I guess it is! I hadn't thought about it. Time feels so different here." She squeezed his arm reassuringly. She looked up to see Daniel watching. This was awkward.

They finally reached her lab. She had gone down earlier and set up two workstations side by side with a stack of reference books and notebooks nearby. Daniel set down his backpack and pulled out a stack of his own. "Ok, so where do we begin?" he asked.

Rodney flipped open one of the laptops and went through a brief description of the software. He outlined some if its more innovative points and highlighted the specific ideas that were Emily's that he'd been able to implement.

"Impressive," Daniel mused. "This is exactly what you were dreaming about, Em. I thought they told you it couldn't be done?"

"Well, I didn't have Rodney there to ask," she said proudly, looking up at Rodney, sliding her arm around him and pulling him closer to her side.

Rodney looked down at her and nodded, saying, "Hm." Then he smiled and snuck his arm around her back as well, his chin lifting just a fraction.

Daniel raised his eyebrows at them, pursed his lips momentarily, then turned back to face the computer and poked around at it a bit.

Rodney looked more relaxed now. Finally, that was established. She was sure Daniel had gotten the message and Rodney could stop looking so troubled. She smiled at him and raised her eyebrows. He shoved his hands in his pockets and mirrored her expression. Finally, she said, "Well, I think we can go ahead and get started. Will I see you for lunch before your mission?"

"Yes, yes. Say, 11:30? Are you sure you don't need some more help here? Because, I'd be glad to stay and help out for a few hours."

"No. No need. I'll walk you out and let you get some work done this morning, ok?"

She led him out in the hall and closed the door to the lab. She didn't know what to say to reassure him. She just looked at him helplessly and asked, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Why would anything be wrong?"

"I don't know. It's ok, you know."

"I know," he said a little defensively.

"Ok, well, I guess I'll see you for lunch?"

He nodded, but was hesitating. His eyes were darting up and down the corridor. Finally, he grabbed her, kissing her hard, then fixed her with an intense look and turned to go. She watched him walk away, feeling frustration warring with amusement, then went back into the lab.

She smiled at Daniel and opened a notebook, saying, "Let me show you what I have so far."

"Wait a minute." He looked at her incredulously. "You and McKay?"

"Yes?" She returned his gaze steadily.

He closed his eyes, furrowing his brow, his lips working, then opened them again and looked confused. "Em, he hardly seems your type."

"He's exactly my type," she said firmly.

He held up his hands. "Ok. Ok. It's clearly none of my business." He turned back to the computer and opened a notebook.

What was she supposed to do now? Was she supposed to explain? Had she hurt his feelings somehow? She had to tell him about the device at some point before he left, but now hardly seemed like the right time. She just wanted to keep things the way they were before.

He looked up and caught her watching him. He raised his eyebrows and said, "What?"

"I don't know. Are you mad at me?"

He looked confused. "About?"

"Never mind. Just ignore me. Let the translation begin!" She grinned at him and opened a notebook to show him what she had done so far. He chuckled at her exuberance and they were quickly absorbed in the task at hand.

* * *

"I'm telling you, Daniel, this dialect has very different rules. I understand what you're saying—and normally I would agree—but in the Lantean dialect, an inverted 'I' almost always has an extremely negative connotation. You can't seriously believe that this word means 'serendipitous!'"

He looked doubtful, peering at her over the rims of his round glasses. "So you do admit there are exceptions to your theories?"

"Of course I do, but not in this case," she said, exasperated. "This word means something far worse than an unlucky discovery—it has connotations of something dark, grisly, macabre—and I'll prove it to you. I'm certain we'll find it in the database and the context will be related to some horrific encounter with the Wraith. This word has Wraith all over it."

Daniel pressed his lips together and shook his head slowly. "I'll believe it when I see it. I think it's far more likely to be used in the context of a new scientific discovery."

"How much?" she said archly.

"Oh, money, again? Please. I don't want your money, Em." He was shaking his head, turning back to the computer.

"Really? Do you know about the ridiculous raise they gave me to come here? Ok, fine. If I win, you send through ten cases of diet coke for me when you get back. Explain that to Landry!"

"And if I win?" he was chuckling.

"I don't know. What do you want?"

"What have you got, Em?"

She laughed heartily. "Not much, I'm afraid. They don't let us bring much through."

"How about a pair of mittens? I'm sure you brought your knitting, right?"

"Ok. But not a fancy pair, just a quick pair. I'm too busy here for anything elaborate. I haven't knit since I left Earth."

He glanced at her, smiling. "You know Siler still knits at lunch every day. The man has no pride."

She snorted with laughter. "Oh, really? Does he miss me?"

"In his own way, I'm sure he does. It's still that orange scarf. Do you think he'll ever finish it?"

"At the rate he knits? It could be years. I can't believe he still works on it when I'm not there to tease him. That just isn't fair!" She beamed at him, pleased that they were already back to their usual banter.

"Em, it's just not the same there without you." He gave her a serious glance and she felt a little sadness for the easy, happy life she had left behind.

"That seems to be the nature of things, though, right? Even in the short time I was there, there was a lot of changeover. The leadership changed three times. Your gate team changed. Our lab grew and shrunk. Henry went to Area 51 just last year. I could be back someday, I guess, if they don't need me here anymore."

Emily sighed and suddenly noticed Rodney standing there. He seemed to be hanging back by the door, observing them, and she wondered how long he'd been standing there.

"Hey!" she jumped up and crossed to him, smiling. "Is it lunchtime already? You're just in time to help me settle a bet!" She grabbed his hand and pulled him over to the Ancient console. "How would I search the database for a single word and have it show a section of text wherever that word appears?"

He followed her stiffly, almost reluctantly, and didn't say anything, just hunched over, pressing a couple of crystals, then typing something into the connected laptop, while she watched.

"Oh, of course! I would have thought of that eventually, I hope." She smiled at him and he returned her gaze with an intense look that she couldn't decipher.

"Ok, let's see. . . ." She typed the disputed word into the laptop and executed the command. Dozens of results came up instantly. "Ok, Daniel, prepare to hit the grocery store with a very large cart when you get back!"

She looked up at the display and scanned it, taking her time to understand the subtle nuances. The first result didn't deliver enough context to come to any conclusions. The second was about a failed experiment. She frowned. The third was about the Ancients' discovery of the newly evolved Wraith on the Wraith home world.

Daniel had risen from his seat and was scanning the wall display as well.

"Read the third entry. Sorry, Daniel—I win this time! It doesn't happen often, but it does happen." He was still reading, but she was convinced, and she turned back to Rodney, smiling. "I'm starving. Do you know what's for lunch today?"

Rodney looked from her to Daniel a couple of times and mutely shook his head. Emily frowned and stepped closer to him, knowing something was wrong.

"Ok, Em. I concede. You seem to be right about this one."

Daniel was still staring at the display, reading. He'd taken his glasses off and was tiredly rubbing one eye.

"You see, I bet him ten cases of diet coke that I was right about the meaning of this word and I—" she wiggled her eyebrows at Rodney and gave him a superior smile "—was right!"

"Yes, yes. I heard," he said flatly, his chin tilted up slightly. He had a peculiarly bland look on his face. Something was making him upset, she thought. Could he be nervous about his upcoming mission?

They headed to lunch as a trio. Both men were curiously silent which was frustrating. She sensed that she should pay more attention to Rodney, so she asked how his morning had gone.

"Oh, ah, fine," he mumbled.

"What are you working on?" she asked.

"Zelenka and I have been working on new anti-replicator technologies. Running simulations and that sort of thing." He had an odd air about him. He was hiding his expression behind a flat, somewhat arrogant mask.

"Oh, really?" Daniel asked, looking genuinely curious as he took a bite of salad. "Anything useful?"

"We're still formulating ideas. . . and such. Several ideas look promising, but nothing useful just yet."

"I'm sure you'll think of something," Emily said firmly and that was as far as that abortive conversation went. They sat in uncomfortable silence for a while. Then she ventured, "Rodney is going on a very interesting mission this afternoon, Daniel. He's going to explore a hollowed-out moon that has a hidden space station inside. Doesn't that sound exciting?"

"Wow. Sure does. Hoping to find some new technology there?" Daniel asked, taking a bite.

"Yes. Yes. We have no idea what we'll find, but it sounds promising," Rodney said and only briefly made eye contact with Daniel before returning his gaze to his tray.

Emily was thinking about kicking Rodney under the table to shake him out of his funk when he started to look like he was nervously formulating a question.

He put down his fork and started to speak, "So, ah, I overheard you talking as I came in to get you for lunch. You taught some guy at the SGC how to knit, Emily?"

Emily started to respond, but Daniel beat her to it. "Not just one guy—a whole table of them at lunch one day. She was regaling us with the history of knitting. Something about men forming knitting guilds or something?"

She turned to Rodney to explain. "Knitting came to the west during the late medieval/early renaissance period. In those days, socks were the primary garment being produced by knitters. It sounds ridiculous to us now, but it was a new technology and these socks were far more comfortable than the socks that were being made from woven fabric at the time. The nobles decided to keep this special new commodity for themselves. So, like other occupations of the time, they formed legal guilds which only men could join. It took years for knitting to escape the structure of the guilds so that women and children could knit for profit."

Rodney nodded and looked from Emily to Daniel.

Daniel smiled and said, "So, Siler—you know Master Sergeant Siler, right?"

Rodney frowned.

Emily rushed to fill in the details. "He's the guy that fixes the gate when something goes wrong. He's an engineer, doesn't say much, wears glasses, often seen holding an impossibly large wrench? I'm sure you know who we mean."

Rodney nodded, looking a little more certain.

Daniel jumped in, "Anyway, Siler overheard her talking from the next table and speaks up, saying she was talking utter nonsense or something."

"Well, it wasn't that strong. I think he was just curious," Emily put in.

"So they get into this heated discussion about gender roles and whether knitting was truly a feminine occupation or not," Daniel said, smiling.

"I just don't think he could wrap his head around a bunch of medieval men sitting around knitting hosiery for a living," she shook her head and giggled.

Daniel took over the story, "So she was saying how, eventually, in places where knitting was the primary economic commodity, even children of both genders were expected to knit to keep a family afloat—and I don't know how you put it exactly—but somehow you turned it into some kind of challenge, like you could teach even him to knit, right?"

Emily shrugged. "God, he took it so seriously! And somehow all the guys he eats lunch with got roped into it too. I went out to my car and all I had was this thick, bright orange yarn. So I brought it in and gave them a lesson." She laughed heartily and Daniel chuckled but Rodney was only smiling slightly. "The other guys, to their credit, did mess around with it for twenty minutes or so before finding excuses to wander off, but Siler was obsessed!"

Daniel laughed. "You were giving him lessons for a week!"

"More than that, I think," she gasped. "Oh, it was so much fun! He kept showing me his progress, so proud, and—oh, I was so bad—I couldn't help myself, I would show him his mistakes and he would unravel everything and start over. It was a two inch scarf for a month before he finally started making actual progress." She bubbled over with mirth. People at other tables were looking at them curiously and she tried to calm down a bit.

"Anyway," Daniel said, smiling, "he's still working on it, months later."

"Did I ever tell you, I saw where he keeps it?"

Daniel shook his head.

"He keeps it in a boiler room, like a filthy rag, and goes and gets it every day at lunch! Oh, I hope I get to see that finished scarf one day." She smiled brightly at Rodney who only looked mildly amused. She sighed. "I guess you had to be there."

"Hm," was all he would say, nodding slightly.

She felt out of sorts, even hurt that he was being so distant. She wanted him to join in, participate. The story they'd told was funny, wasn't it? Why was he being so morose?

Daniel got up and said, "I'm going to have to keep the coffee coming if I'm going to keep up with you this afternoon, Em. It's 11 pm back home and I'm starting to drag." He wandered off to fill a mug with coffee.

"What's going on?" she hissed at Rodney as soon as Daniel was out of earshot.

He looked for a moment like he was going to say something, but then shook his head and looked down at his tray.

"What is it? What's wrong?" she pleaded.

"Nothing," he finally ground out.

She sat back and looked at him, completely mystified.

Daniel rejoined them and they finished up the meal.

Rodney departed without saying much.

Emily turned to Daniel, apologetically, saying, "I'll be right back," and took off after him. She caught up with him, charging down the corridor toward the gate room and grabbed him, pulling him out of the main thoroughfare behind a couple of decorative columns.

"Rodney? Please don't leave this way. Something is bothering you. I can tell."

He looked taken aback. "I'm late. Sheppard's going to be on the radio any minute. . . ."

"I don't care! Tell me what's wrong. Did I. . . do something to upset you?"

"No." He looked uncomfortable, like he wanted to escape.

"McKay! We're waiting in the jumper bay." She heard Sheppard's voice in her ear.

"Crap! How long are you going to be gone?"

"No idea," was all he would say.

"Ok. Look. Whatever this is—we'll work it out later, I guess. Just, have a good mission. Enjoy it—I know it'll be fun for you. Please, just, be careful, ok? I'll be here, waiting, when you get back."

His eyes were searching hers.

She stepped into his orbit for a soft, sweet kiss and stood back to watch him go, feeling troubled.

* * *

Rodney tapped his radio. "On my way." As he stalked toward the jumper bay, he tried to decide if he had a reason to be worried or if he was overreacting. Part of him was sure everything was ok. He'd just spent a lot of time with Emily and things were great. They were getting close in ways he'd never anticipated, ways that would've sounded scary a year ago. They'd told each other things. . . things they'd never told other people. That meant things were good, he was pretty sure.

But there was another part of him that was terrified that she might still be attracted to Jackson. She and Jackson had more in common. Jackson wasn't an ass. He'd just spent years trying to find and recover his lost wife, who was dead, and that had to be, like, the greatest storyline for the sappiest chick flick ever, right? Girls liked these ridiculously tragic heroes. They didn't go for the smart guys.

He'd already been worried about the fact that the two of them were going to be spending so much time alone together, but he'd been smart enough to keep that to himself. Then the hug she'd given Jackson had thrown him off. It probably hadn't meant much. She was an affectionate person, right? He just hadn't expected it. She said they were friends. He just. . . well, he didn't have any female friends that he would even consider hugging—he could only think of one time he'd hugged his own sister in the last decade.

Then, he'd walked into her lab before lunch and seen them together. . . and then in the mess. . . . It was just unnerving. He'd thought those smiles, those giggles, that playful behavior was a side of her that she shared only with him, but apparently it wasn't. Clearly she had some kind of rapport with Jackson that was really friendly. She was practically flirting with him.

She was normally quiet around other people. . . serious. Maybe it just took her a while to warm up to people. It wouldn't have been such a shock if he'd seen her interact like that with his friends. Maybe she'd be like that with them someday. He sighed and ducked his head to step into the jumper, noted everyone else was there, and hit the control to trigger the hatch to close.

It was a damn good thing she won that bet. Because he was not going to sit around and watch her knitting mittens for Jackson—of that, he was certain.

"You're late," Sheppard barked.

"I know," he said sharply, frowning, and sat down in the copilot seat to look over the pre-flight.

"Lemme guess—you were with Emily?" Sheppard asked.

He ignored the question and concentrated on what he was doing.

"Trouble in paradise?"

Rodney didn't say anything, just grimaced.

"What'd you do?" Sheppard taunted.

"Nothing. I didn't do anything. It's fine," Rodney replied flatly.

"Who's that guy eating lunch with you and Emily?" Ronon asked from the back.

"Daniel Jackson," he ground out, keeping his eyes on his laptop.

Sheppard glanced at him as the jumper descended into the gate room. "He's an archaeologist, right? Like Emily? He's the guy who figured out the Stargate on Earth. We wouldn't be here without him." Sheppard leaned back and glanced at Ronon.

"Yes, Emily says he is a very good friend. They worked together on Earth," Teyla offered.

"Yes, yes, he's the guy who figured out the Stargate. He's a freaking genius," Rodney said bitterly.

"You guys didn't know how to use your Stargate? It's pretty simple," Ronon was saying.

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Ours was buried. No one knew what it was. You grew up with it. There's a difference."

They were through the gate. Rodney plotted the course that would take them to the moon and sent the data to Sheppard.

Ronon was still going on about the gate. "Why was yours buried? You mean like in the ground?"

Rodney appealed to Sheppard for help, but Sheppard clearly didn't know the answer, because he was looking like he was curious too.

"Yes, in the ground. Apparently in our ancient history there were some really bad alien guys who enslaved our planet. They had some kind of uprising, then buried the gate to keep them from coming back."

"Who were the bad guys?"

"Dammit Ronon—why do you care so much?"

"I don't know. Was it those snake things like Caldwell had?"

Sheppard was still looking like he wanted to know the answer too.

Rodney sighed. "Yes. The Goa Uld—they are the snake things."

"Ever had one of those in ya?" Ronon asked.

"What? No! Of course not." He looked back at Ronon, incredulous at how long this conversation was going on.

Ronon was idly staring out the windshield. "So what happened with you and Emily? I heard you guys didn't work yesterday. You spent all day alone together. What happened—did you finally get on her nerves?"

"No," he answered, putting as much annoyance in that one word as he could manage.

"What is it, then?"

"I said it's nothing. Will you just drop it?" The moon was coming into view. He checked to see if he was in range to do a sensor sweep.

"I could hear Emily laughing on the other side of the mess hall. You afraid she might like that Jackson guy more than you?"

Rodney didn't say anything, just grit his teeth and hunched over the laptop, trying to focus on the data coming from the sensors.

"That's it, isn't it?"

Rodney threw a flailing gesture toward the moon that was getting larger through the jumper's windshield. "Can we just focus on the mission?"

Teyla decided to weigh in. "I am certain you do not have anything to worry about, Rodney. Emily seems to have very strong feelings for you."

He closed his eyes for a second and took a breath before gritting out, "We don't need to talk about Emily's feelings."

"She stares at you a lot. I think she likes you," Ronon put in.

Rodney sent Sheppard a long suffering look.

"He's right. She does." Sheppard smirked at him.

"So, you afraid that guy Jackson might make a move while you're gone today?" Ronon asked.

Rodney clenched his jaw, watching the sensor data as Sheppard slowly docked the jumper with the space station.

* * *

Emily made her way back to the mess, thinking through the day's events, and couldn't think of anything that would upset Rodney. Finally, she shrugged it off as a mystery to be solved later and rejoined Daniel to go back to work.

"Everything ok?" he asked.

"Sure. Just wishing him a bon voyage," she replied, noting that he had his lips pressed in that way he had when he was concerned. "With the time difference, are you sure you want to keep working through the afternoon? Maybe we should call it a day and let you acclimate a little more?"

"No, I'd rather keep working. But a little sunshine would do wonders for the sleepiness, I think. Is there somewhere we could work outside?"

"That's a good idea. There's a balcony not too far from the lab, I think."

* * *

They settled on the balcony floor, facing the sea, with laptops balanced on their laps and a couple of notebooks between them.

"This reminds me of college. I used to study outside a lot," Emily commented.

"Em, all this stuff with McKay aside, what happened to you on Earth right before you left?" Daniel asked softly.

She wanted to say, _What stuff with McKay,_ in an angry voice, but decided to ignore it, since she was wondering the same thing. Instead, she tried to put him off with a lame, "I don't know what you mean."

"I think you do. You withdrew from everyone. You didn't smile or laugh anymore and you suddenly made a decision to come here after refusing to for so long. To top it off—you gated here, against medical advice, and made yourself really ill. You were acting completely out of character. You seem more yourself now. . . and I'm glad. But I have to wonder if I did something that drove you away?"

She met his concerned gaze guiltily. He was a kind man, a good friend. He cared about her and she had repaid his kindness poorly. She owed him the truth, at least. She couldn't put it off any longer. "No. You didn't, Daniel. But something else did."


	24. Chapter 24 declaratio declaration

Emily poured out everything. Starting with the day she'd sat down with the device from P3X-549, she told Daniel about the notes she'd taken, the dreams, the urges she'd felt to change her life. She tried to be analytical, dispassionate, to just relay the facts so that he could understand. She managed pretty well, she thought. She was a little shaky. A few tears had escaped, but she had not sounded crazy or incomprehensible, she hoped.

He just listened. He didn't say a word until she finished. Then, he said simply, "Why didn't you tell me? I could have helped you."

"Because it was you! It was you and it was intensely personal. You know about me. I mean, I managed to tell you in my own way over the years that I'd never dated, never really been close to anyone. The thought that I'd finally. . . that I'd married you and it hadn't gone well—I couldn't bear to tell you. It was too much, Daniel. I was completely overwhelmed. I shut down. I couldn't say the words."

"We could have changed it."

She shook her head emphatically. "No. We couldn't. That's what it told me."

"We could've chosen not to have children. You could've kept working. We could've resolved to make it work."

She was reluctant to say the words that she'd had trouble coming to terms with herself. "Vala would've still been a part of the equation, Daniel," she said softly.

"Vala?" He looked mystified. "You can't mean? Don't be ridiculous, Emily, I would never do that."

"Not intentionally, no. But there was something there, Daniel. I don't honestly know what. I'm not. . . I don't know. . . I just think you need to seriously examine your feelings for her." She looked down. "Is it possible that maybe you saw me. . . as a safer version of her? We. . . I mean, she. . . ."

He looked troubled and turned to the sea. She stopped speaking then, feeling foolish.

After a while she said, "Daniel, I appreciate that you're taking this seriously. It means a lot to me that you believe me. But, I don't know if this is real. I mean—what if the device simply took things from my imagination, put these ideas in my head, making me think they were real? I could be mad for all I know." She looked down at her fingers, rolling and unrolling the cuff of her uniform shirt, over and over again.

He shook his head and shot her a sad look. "You aren't crazy, Emily. If you'd told me sooner, I could've put your mind at ease. We've had a report from Area 51 about that device. It affected other people. Experiments were performed on it and the government decided to destroy it, just like they destroyed the quantum mirror. It was deemed too tempting, too dangerous to keep around."

"Oh. Oh, no." She pressed her fingers to her lips to contain the feelings roiling inside. Someone else had been hurt, like she'd been, because she'd neglected to tell, because of her fear, her inadequacy. It'd been real, terribly real, not her imagination at all.

"Emily? Are you ok?" Daniel leaned closer, reached out to touch her.

She pushed his hand away and stood. She leaned against the railing and looked out at the sea, trying to breathe, trying to stifle the sudden onslaught of paralyzing, overwhelming bursts of feelings. Daniel stood next to her and she knew he was watching, but she couldn't rush.

She closed her eyes and waited until she felt her heart and thoughts start to slow, until she was able to choke out, "How did they know it was real?"

"Well, my understanding is, three scientists were in a room working on it. One of them touched it and started talking about something he'd seen. Moments later, he had no recollection of the experience, but they'd been recording their experiments on video. On the recording, one of the first things he mentioned was that his father died of a sudden heart attack, which happened a week later. That was the beginning. Other experiments followed. To my knowledge, no one else tried to change the outcome like you did, Emily."

She sat back down, feeling shaky. "Ok. Let me do the math, then. You're going to have to suspend gate travel. . . probably from 2010 to 2012, just to be sure, because I—I don't know the date. . . it didn't tell me the, the date, or the planet, or the gate address, or what the situation was. I'm so sorry, Daniel. I wish I could tell you more. I want you to be ok."

He sat down next to her, pulling her close. "It's ok. You can tell me later when it's not such a shock."

"Ok." She leaned against him and he felt solid and comforting, but she wished Rodney were there instead. He wouldn't know what to do or say, but it would still feel better. He might be moody and insecure but he was trying to be there for her. She straightened then, and edged away from Daniel a little.

"I'm sorry," he said suddenly, "for whatever part I would have played that would've led to your unhappiness. From the day I met you, I liked you, Emily. I won't say I was in love with you, because that wouldn't be true. I don't know what would've happened between us, had things been allowed to go along as they would have. But I would never intentionally hurt you. Never."

"I know that, Daniel. I don't think so either. I hope that things won't be too weird, now, because I would hate to lose your friendship." She smiled at him tremulously.

"This thing with McKay, do you think it'll work out? You've changed the timeline, advanced things by twenty-five years. That's a lot of time. People can change a lot in twenty-five years," he said, looking at her speculatively.

"I sure hope so, because. . . I'm. . . I think. . . I've fallen in love with him," she said softly.

"Yeah. That's pretty clear," he said, a muscle working in his cheek. "I hope he knows how lucky he is."

She peered at him curiously. She was beginning to suspect that people like Daniel and Carson and maybe many others, were able to read her moods, her feelings, based on her expressions. She must. . . give it all away somehow, without ever knowing she was doing it. It was something she'd despaired of ever learning herself, until recently. Rodney's moods were usually fairly easy to read, though, like giant emoticons. He made her feel more proficient at just about everything. Well, except for today, of course.

"Why did you think I ran away?"

He fiddled with a worn corner on a notebook, pressing it in place and bending it back. "I thought Jack had said something to you, something callus, off-hand, that he probably thought was a joke, but that you'd taken seriously."

"No. He didn't. But he has managed to cause trouble for me here."

"How's that?" He looked concerned.

"His reaction to our dates—it made its way into my record. Dr. Weir thinks I went from dating someone important at the SGC to dating someone important here. I don't know what she thinks that means, but her opinion of me is less than stellar. Rodney says it's nothing to worry about, but I have a bad feeling. I think she's going to send me back—sooner, rather than later."

"If it comes up, I can put her mind at rest, Em."

"I think you're the only one who can, Daniel. You can tell her about. . . this, if you think it'll help. I'm certainly not going to tell her."

Emily picked up a notebook and thumbed through the pages, finding the spot where she'd left off before. She stared at the page for a long time, not seeing the words, just letting thoughts flow through her mind. Finally, she set the notebook down, picked up the laptop, and started working again.

"What are you doing?" Daniel asked.

"I'm working."

"I can see that. Why? Don't you think you should give yourself some time to adjust?"

"Daniel, this has been going on for months. I'm tired of thinking about it. Now I know it was real. I wish I could go back and prevent other people from being affected, but. . . I can't do that. I feel terrible about failing them and I just don't want to think about it anymore. The only thing that will take my mind off of it is work."

"If you'd told someone, they still would have experimented on the device. Other people would've been involved."

"I know that," she snapped.

"Ok." His expression was tense. "Look, why don't we go get some more coffee? I can tell you what I've been up to lately."

She shut the laptop, aghast at her own ineptitude. "Daniel, I'm sorry. The Ori. Are you ok? You sounded so normal in your emails. I'm afraid I don't have any idea what happened to you. I'm sorry I didn't ask."

He sighed. "I'm fine. Like you, I guess I'd rather ignore that it happened. Coming here today seemed like a good idea because everyone at the SGC has been tiptoeing around me, like I could explode at any minute. It's nice to feel normal, at least for a little while."

"I know what you mean. Work seems to be both a problem and a solution for me."

"You've been through a lot. Keeping it to yourself must have been hard."

"Did they hurt you? You don't have to talk about it, if you don't want to."

He ducked his head. "No. They thought they'd changed me, made me a Prior, but I managed to fool them. I'm ok."

Her eyes flared and she watched him carefully, but he didn't seem to care to say more. After a time, she said softly, "The gate is dangerous. It changes us."

He smiled wryly. "Yes, but we're explorers. We can't go back, now, can we?"

She looked down at her hands. "I'm afraid I'm not really an explorer, Daniel."

"Of course you are. You've changed and grown a lot in the last five years. That first year was hard for you. Gate travel was a setback, but you really stepped up to the plate when I was. . . gone. It took real courage for you to come here, Emily. You're letting yourself indulge your immense curiosity, despite the risk."

She shook her head. "I don't think I was able to do much more than answer yes or no questions for the first six months. You must've thought you'd hired the wrong person."

"No. I've never seen anyone learn a language so fast. Your perception is incredible. I've often wondered if the gene gives you some advantage."

She shrugged. "Are there other things you'd like to do while you're here in Pegasus? Surely you want to do more than data entry?"

"Ah, no, not really." He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "I wouldn't mind examining some of the devices you have floating around in the lab, maybe doing some database surfing, as you put it. I could download some chunks to take back to the SGC to read."

She tried to convince him to rest, but he was determined to get some coffee and power through a few more hours. She thought maybe he didn't want to leave her alone after such a shock. They worked through to a late dinner. Daniel was drooping and she insisted that he get some rest then. She escorted him to the guest quarters and hung back as he entered.

"Let me know if you need anything, on the radio. Call for the welcoming committee in the morning, if you need help finding the mess."

"I'll manage. What are you going to do now, as if I don't know?"

"Work. I'm going to wait up for Rodney," she said with a fragile smile. "He's got some explaining to do about his behavior today."

"Do you think it might have something to do with me being here? You told him everything, right? He might see me as a threat. But from my point of view, he wasn't acting very different from the McKay I've known—just quieter."

"You might be right, I guess. But you don't know him like I do."

"Thank God for that. Goodnight, Em." He smiled a tired smile and went inside.

She went back to work, worried that she still hadn't heard from Rodney. After a few hours, she wondered if he'd already returned, but hadn't contacted her. She couldn't be sure what had been going through his head, he'd been acting so strange. She didn't want to call for him on the radio where everyone could hear, so she wandered through the science labs, stopping to speak with a few people casually. None of them had seen Rodney since morning. She walked to her quarters, stopping at his old quarters on the way and ringing the chime, just in case. He wasn't in either quarters.

She turned back. She still had that inexplicable feeling of dread, like something might be about to go wrong or maybe already had. Rodney's reticence earlier had only fueled it. She knew it was ridiculous. He was on a routine mission. But, all those stories he'd told. . . made it seem like his routine missions had a habit of spiraling out of control.

She found herself hesitating at the point in the corridor that led to the control room. One quick word with Chuck could put her mind at ease. It was late. Few people would be around. She debated with herself for minutes on end, but finally concern won over embarrassment.

She approached Chuck, who was working at a console, and waited for him to notice her.

He looked up, raising his eyebrows. "What can I do for you, Dr. Freedman?"

"I was just wondering if you could tell me if Dr. McKay's team has returned yet?"

His eyes went wide and he looked around, like he was hoping for rescue. "Ah, no. Not yet. . . ."

"Dr. Freedman?" It was Dr. Weir's voice, coming from the direction of her office.

She turned to face Weir, "Yes?"

"Come into my office, please."

Emily complied, tendrils of cold dread unfurling like hard knots in her stomach. She took a seat and blurted out, "Is Rodney ok? Has something happened?"

Weir narrowed her eyes at her and said, "I'll get to that. But first, there is something else I'd like to address. Where is Dr. Jackson, right now?"

Emily blinked warily. "In the guest quarters you had prepared for him. He's exhausted from the time change. I dropped him off there hours ago."

Weir nodded a single time and seemed to choose her words carefully, "I stopped by the archeology lab today after lunch to see how things were going, but you weren't there. As I retraced my steps, movement caught my eye from a nearby balcony where I discovered Dr. Jackson embracing you. Would you care to explain what I saw?"

Emily flinched slightly, involuntarily, and felt herself stiffen. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, filling the silence. Dr. Weir's eyes were boring into her and she faltered, "Daniel and I. . . we've worked together for a long time. We're very good friends. He'd just given me some bad news from home and I was upset. What you saw was a friend consoling another friend, nothing more."

Weir shook her head and leaned forward. "Dr. Freedman, I don't know what game you're playing here, but—"

Emily cut her off and stood rigidly, righteous anger boiling in her blood, "Look, Dr. Weir—I know you don't trust me, that you're suspicious of me. Why, or how that came about, I have no idea. You protect your people. I get that. I applaud that. But, whatever it is that you think you know about me is incorrect. I'm not involved with Dr. Jackson—I never have been. I give you leave to discuss this matter with him as extensively as you see fit—because he's certainly above reproach. He'll be able to put your mind at ease better than I ever could, because, let's face it—you aren't going to believe a word that comes out of my mouth. Now, will you please tell me what's happened to Rodney? Because, I have a terrible feeling he's in trouble and I'm. . .so. . .worried."

Weir looked nonplussed, but only for a moment. She eyed Emily critically. "You'd better sit down."

Emily sat, her hands gripping her knees so they wouldn't tremble, the knuckles gone white. "What? Is it bad?"

"We just sent through a rescue team an hour ago. There were complications at the space station. The moon is in a decaying orbit and there's only a short window of time to get them out."

"Ok," she managed to get out. She willed her brain not to go into that frozen, panicked state again—not in front of Weir.

"We should hear from them soon. The rescue team has made contact and is working to get our people out, but there is a hostage situation and the timing is getting close."

"Hostage? I thought the station was uninhabited. Is it the Wraith?" Her voice shook as she spoke the last word and she cursed herself mentally. This was sounding worse and worse.

"No. Not Wraith. There were people there—in storage—and Rodney inadvertently brought a couple of them to life." Weir raised her eyebrows and turned to overlook the gate, which had just started to dial. "Excuse me. That must be them now."

Emily followed Weir stiffly out into the control room. Chuck nodded at Weir and said, "Receiving transmission."

"Atlantis base, this is McKay."

Emily slumped with relief. He was ok, for now.

"Yes, Rodney, go ahead," Weir replied.

"We've had a few developments, since we last spoke. Jamus put himself and Teyla in the storage device. There was no time to figure out how to get Teyla out and there was no time to rig up power to the device here in the jumper. Sheppard decided to fly the shuttle down—a completely asinine decision—but it worked. We're on the surface now. Beckett is checking Sheppard out and I'm preparing to rematerialize the one-thousand-plus people in the device. We're going to need some relief teams here, because these people are basically going to be refugees, and we're going to have to figure out how to get the first jumper out of orbit. Our team will gate back as soon as I get Teyla out and Beckett releases us."

"Ok. Keep us informed of your progress. Weir out." Weir addressed Chuck, "Organize two relief teams with tents, medical supplies and medical personnel."

Emily stood nearby, watching Weir warily.

"Dr. Freedman, I think that should put your mind at ease. I'll take up our topic of discussion with Dr. Jackson tomorrow. I trust that is all?"

"Yes, thank you." Emily walked away and found herself in her lab again. She sat down to work but couldn't accomplish anything. Finally, she picked up a small case and shoved a few things in it. She went to the mess, grabbed some food, and stuck that in the case as well. Then she walked back to the gate room, sat down on the steps, out of sight of the control room, pulled out a laptop, and got back to work. She wanted to know the minute he was back and she wasn't going to depend on anyone else to tell her.

Hours went by, but she didn't budge. As she worked, her eyes drifted off, and more than once she caught Weir looking down on her, lost in thought herself. Several jumpers filled with relief teams were dispatched to the planet. It was late. The steps grew hard and uncomfortable. She was dead tired. Telling Daniel about the device and hearing what he had to say about it had exhausted her, but she was too stubborn to leave.

She knew she was being ridiculous. She should be sensible and go to bed, but she couldn't. He would see her when he came through.

Finally, she heard the gate mechanisms groan, engage, and the event horizon exploded with a roar. She was collecting her things when the jumper eased into the space in front of her. She straightened. John was piloting and Rodney was next to him, looking down, probably at his laptop. She smiled and waved. John smiled a wry smile and poked Rodney in the ribs. She caught a glimpse of his startled face as the jumper lifted into the space above. She shouldered the strap on the case and realized she only knew one way to get to the jumper bay—through the control room.

She tentatively mounted the second landing to see Weir in the control room frowning at her, but then Weir motioned, saying, "This way."

Emily matched Weir's brisk pace through the control room and up the flight of stairs, neither of them saying a word. Emily hung back by the door as Weir went forward to greet them, asking for more details. Rodney looked tired and kept glancing at her across the bay, waiting for Weir to dismiss them. When she did, he crossed to her quickly, looking concerned and puzzled.

"Hey, what are you doing? Why were you sitting on the steps in the gate room?"

"I was waiting for you!" she exclaimed and threw herself at him, hugging him tightly. "I told you I would. I was so worried."

He squeezed her back, patting her hair, saying, "No need to worry. I always come back. You know I would've radio'd as soon as I got here, right? Mm. I probably smell terrible. I was stuck in a space suit for most of the day."

She pulled back, chuckling huskily. "I don't care."

"Carson already checked us out, so we're good to go. I'm starving. Let's hit the mess." He was already walking.

John was ahead of them, talking to Weir. He turned, sending her and Rodney a raised eyebrow.

"I've already been there," she said and patted the case. "I knew you'd be hungry. It's late."

"Hm. Good thinking." He shot her an appreciative look.

She grabbed his hand, squeezing it, and didn't let go. He looked surprised but didn't say anything.

When they got back to her quarters, he headed straight for the shower and she sat on the bed to wait for him. He came out in some boxers and a t-shirt, rubbing his head with a towel. "So, how was your day today?" he asked, not quite meeting her gaze.

"Awful," she answered blithely. "You?"

He raised his eyebrows and said, "Pretty terrible." He wandered back into the bathroom and she could see him combing his hair.

She raised her voice slightly so he could hear, "Dr. Weir told me some of what happened. I was in the control room when you radio'd about John landing a shuttle."

He sat down on the bed. "Hm. What happened to you?"

She handed him a sandwich, an apple, and a bottle of water. He watched her closely as he took some large bites of sandwich.

"I told Daniel about the device. He asked me why I was acting strange before I left Earth and I didn't have a choice."

He lowered the sandwich. "Did he believe you?"

She snorted softly and leaned back against the wall. "Apparently I wasn't the only person the device messed with." She took a deep breath and let it out fast. "It was documented and studied at Area 51 and then destroyed like the quantum mirror."

His eyes went wide and he put the sandwich down, mumbling, "So it was real?"

"Yes. It was real. All of it. The things I wrote down, the dreams—it would have happened that way if I hadn't touched the device. I wouldn't have met you for another twenty-five years."

"What's wrong? Why do you look so depressed? Shouldn't you be glad you finally know?"

She felt too tired to slog through all these emotions again. "Of course I'm glad to know I'm not crazy, but I'm horrified that I didn't report it, and, in my cowardice, let other people touch that damn thing, blind. Some poor scientist. . . . They were taking video recordings of the device as they performed their experiments. The whole thing was recorded."

He looked thoughtful. "A recording would be taken more seriously. Maybe you did the right thing."

She shook her head. "You're just trying to make me feel better. I appreciate that. But there's no way you can spin this that makes running away anything other than the wrong thing, Rodney."

"Do you wish you had stayed?" he asked quietly, avoiding her gaze.

"If you're asking if I wished that I'd stayed with Daniel, the answer is no. Rodney, is that what your behavior was about today? Do you think I want to be with Daniel?"

Rodney stood up, hands twitching, pacing. "Emily, I don't know what to say. I don't know what to think. Watching you two together today—the way you talk to each other? I'm sorry, but it looks like there's something there." He stopped and turned to her, a desperate expression on his face. Holding up pinched fingers, he said, "But I came this close to being dead today—and in that moment I thought, if I make it out of here, I'm going to fight for her."

She stood and captured his pinched fingers. "But you don't have to fight. I'm right here, with you. I don't understand what you think you're seeing. We're just friends. I've known him, worked with him, for five years—in that kind of time you develop a connection. I've seen you, Rodney. You have interactions like that with Carson and John and Radek. Daniel is my very good friend and that's all. We started dating because of that, but no strong romantic feelings had developed between us and they never will. I do care about him, but I'm not in love with him."

He looked doubtful and sat back down on the edge of the bed.

She crossed the distance between them and caught his gaze. "Daniel and I talked about it—all of it—extensively this afternoon. He told me he was never in love with me and I was relieved. Does that make you feel better?"

He looked shocked but still wouldn't say anything. He was hunched over, lost in thought. She tried to pull him to her for a kiss, but he resisted. She sat back, watching him think, feeling forlorn, inept, and frustrated.

She spoke softly, hoping to break through his doubts, "I'm sorry about how this got started. I'll never forgive myself for what I said about Katie. I know you must have doubts about whether my feelings are real or just induced by that machine. I'm sure. . . I wasn't clear enough about Daniel. It's taken time to sort through the facts, the dreams and the feelings—to make sense of it. Seeing him today, I was finally able to see that the Emily in the dreams—she didn't know what I know now. She didn't know that I want more and deserve more than just friendship. That Emily only thought she was in love with Daniel because she didn't know any better—she'd never experienced anything like this, like what we have."

She got down on her knees in front of him, putting her hands on him, hovering close to his unresponsive face. "Rodney, you're all I can think about. You make my stomach flutter. You make me. . . tingle. I want to smile, just seeing you. I hope you feel the same way. I think. . . you do. You've got to know by now that I'm completely in love with you, don't you?"

His eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that shocked her. He grabbed her, clasping her in a ferocious embrace, kissing her senseless. She struggled to keep up with him as he growled impatiently and fumbled with their clothes. When they were finally free, he stilled and looked into her eyes again, his warm skin pressed against hers along the lengths of their bodies.

"I do feel the same way," he said gruffly.


	25. Chapter 25 accidens accident

Emily fell into bed, exhausted. Rodney was showering and she intended to stay awake until he got out. She pulled the sheet up, covering the thin white t-shirt and colorful polka-dot boxers she'd borrowed from Rodney's drawer. She didn't have any good reason for nabbing them except that they made her smile and, well, he seemed to like it.

It had been a long week since Daniel arrived. She and Daniel had put all the catching up behind them and gotten seriously to work, putting in excruciatingly long hours each day. They recruited a few people to help input the data, agreeing that together they could process the work faster than either could type and having a consensus of meaning between them seemed more important.

Their arguments over meaning grew fewer as, with the volume of work, Daniel quickly picked up on Emily's complex theories about Lantean inverted letters. He was fluent in the Milky Way dialect, had retained the language when he returned from Ascension, but until now had little experience with this dialect. It helped that they were able to make quick cross-references in the database, an advantage they hadn't had at the SGC. With these additional factors in play, the data entry was moving much faster than either of them anticipated.

Things were settling into place in her world, she thought, as she cradled the pillow and fought closing her eyes. Knowing the truth about the device had crystalized her feelings about a lot of things. She was coming to terms with the mistake she had made. Rodney seemed to have relaxed by a few degrees. Her declaration of love seemed to have given him some sense of security. She shifted her legs under the sheets and smiled, thinking about how playful and gabby he'd been—and not just with her. He was smiling more, laughing more, and had at least a degree more patience with others. He'd even made some friendly overtures toward Daniel.

She must have dozed off. She started drowsily as Rodney climbed into bed and realized the lights were already off. Rain pattered the windows. She reached out to him sleepily and he scooped her close. She remembered to push her hair up and out of his face and fell back into unconsciousness.

They were awoken some time later when the radio Rodney kept at the bedside squawked, calling him to the infirmary to deal with a pair of the junior science staff.

"Oh, God, what now," he groaned.

She offered to come with him, but wasn't very convincing.

"No, no. I'll be right back," he said, shrugging on his fuzzy, blue, terrycloth bathrobe.

"You aren't going to get dressed to go over there?"

"Hell, no," he grumbled, rubbing a hand over his face. "This better be good."

She fell back asleep, barely registering a low rumble of thunder outside.

She woke again later to find Rodney heavily returning to bed. She rolled over and a flash of lightning revealed he was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling in the dark.

"What was it?" she asked sleepily.

"A couple of idiots that like to call themselves scientists were cataloging a lab tonight and turned something on," he said, clearly annoyed. Rain pounded the windows.

"What did they turn on?" she asked, struggling to push the fog of sleep aside and understand what was happening.

"I don't know. I'll figure it out later. Are you awake now, too?" he asked hopefully, sneaking closer, his hand creeping under her shirt.

"Wait a minute," she said, putting her hand over his to still his wandering fingers. "Why were they in the infirmary?"

He sighed with frustration. "The device was emitting radiation. As soon as they detected it, they shut it off. Carson says they're fine." He kissed her.

She couldn't help but respond to him, but was feeling troubled, distracted. Something was tugging at her. Something was wrong. Finally she put her hands on his face and said, "Wait, wait. I'm sorry, but I can't do this right now."

He pulled back. "What? Why?"

"Rodney, they could be in trouble. We should find out what that device does."

"I'll look at it first thing in the morning. It'll be fine," he said reassuringly and tried to resume his ministrations.

"No. I've got a bad feeling about this, Rodney. It'll only take an hour to go look. Let's go. I'll do the reading. It'll be fast, I promise." She extricated herself from him and threw back the sheet.

"I get bad feelings all the time. It's usually nothing. Carson says they're fine. Oh, now what are you doing?"

"I'm getting dressed."

"I just got back," he groused.

"I'm sorry. I can't sleep or. . . do anything else until I know what that device does. You're going to have to go with me because I don't know where to look, so get up."

"Damn it!" he muttered, grabbing the bathrobe, then seemed to change his mind when he realized she was putting on her uniform. "Would you turn on the light, please?" he demanded.

"Certainly." She giggled and the lights came on at half-strength. "You're so hot when you're grumpy."

"Really?" he asked suspiciously.

"Yeah. You say things like that to me all the time. Why shouldn't I say things like that to you?" She was tying her shoes.

"You're attracted to my grumpy behavior instead of my manly physique, hm?"

"Mmmm. I am," she said dreamily and chortled, cracking herself up. She went to him, lazily wrapped her arms around his neck and said, "I promise I'll make this up to you on Sunday."

"That's tomorrow, or rather, today," he said flatly. "Are you really going to take it off?"

"Ah, no. But I'll make more time for you—I promise."

When they were heading out the door, he said, "You know it's supposed to be mandatory for everyone."

"Yes, but I just took a day off a week ago with you, remember? Daniel is only here for one more week. I'll take a day off after he's gone, if you promise it'll be as good as the last one. Besides, didn't you make plans to go fishing with Carson?"

"Yes, don't remind me," he said, irritably. "Maybe Daniel would like to do something else while he's here. You're working him like a slave."

"I'm a hard task-master. Be glad you're the boss, not me."

"Right now it feels like you are the boss."

She let out a peal of laughter, then guiltily covered her mouth, smothering any further sounds she might make. "I'm so tired, I feel like I'm drunk," she admitted, swaying a bit, and put her arm around him.

"Hm. Let's get this done so we can go back to bed, then."

"Where are we going?"

"My lab. I can access their duty logs there as well as the database and hopefully anything else we might need."

"So we don't have to go to the actual lab they were cataloging?"

"I don't think so. I hope not," he said, testily.

When they arrived, he sat down at his work station and pulled up the location of the lab that the scientists named Hewston and Watson had been working in. Emily typed that location into the database and pulled up schematics of the device as well as a description and started reading while Rodney went over the schematics.

She hadn't read very far before she started panicking. "Oh, Rodney, this is bad—this is very bad."

He came up behind her and started reading too. Soon she heard him mutter, "Damn it!"

"There's time. It looks like it takes at least eight to fourteen hours before the tumors could ignite. How long ago was their exposure?"

He looked at his watch, "A little over three hours. We'd better start waking people up." He clicked on his headset. "Control Room, this is McKay, I have a list of people you need to wake up and get to the large conference room ASAP." He turned to her, "Can you start working up some kind of report?"

"Of course," she said, opening a new file on the laptop and scrolling through the information in the database to find the most pertinent information to drop into it.

"Ok, Control Room—here's your list: Weir, Sheppard, Beckett, Dr. Watson and Dr. Hewston, and anyone trained to handle bomb disposal. That's all for now. We'll meet in the conference room in half an hour. McKay out."

"Rodney, if we'd waited until morning. . . ."

"They'd be dead," he said, reaching around her for something. "Along with a whole lot of other people, I know. I know. You were right. I'll never doubt you again."

* * *

"It's the bloody middle of the night, Rodney!" Carson complained.

Emily uneasily addressed the group while Rodney prepared his visual aid, "I'm sorry we woke you. A situation has come to light that couldn't wait until morning." A low rumble of thunder shuddered through the tower. She nervously looked at their faces, each displayed some level of annoyance and impatience and considered what to say next.

"I'm ready," Rodney said.

Emily gratefully sat down in an empty seat next to Dr. Weir while Rodney started to explain.

He gestured at the two junior scientists, speaking in an acerbic tone, "Earlier this evening, Drs. Hewston and Watson were doing a routine cataloging of one of the abandoned ancient labs that we recently uncovered. They foolishly went against protocol and activated an unknown device. The device emitted an unusual type of radiation and they shut it off. At that point they were at least smart enough to go to the infirmary where Carson gave them a clean bill of health. That was premature, however."

"Ok. Why couldn't this wait until morning?" Weir asked.

"Because the device," Rodney gestured at the display, "that they activated, was a powerful weapon, designed by the Ancients to use against the Wraith. The technology was abandoned early on because it affected everyone in proximity. Not only Wraith, but Ancients and Humans as well. The technology is spectacularly complicated, but, long story short, the device creates explosive tumors."

The room broke into chaos. Carson was saying that wasn't possible. Dr. Hewston was gasping and Dr. Watson rose from his chair, making it scrape loudly against the floor. Weir and Sheppard were making demands and asking questions.

Emily rose, speaking loudly to get their attention, "No one needs to panic. We have at least four hours, probably a lot longer, before the tumors, if they exist, ignite."

Carson leaned in and said, "I can't see how this is medically possible."

Rodney countered sarcastically, "Yeah, I wish. I'd be back in bed by now if it weren't. Look, it's actually quite ingenious." He clicked the remote and pointed at the monitor. "The device emits millions of irradiated particles that have been tagged with genetic material, programmed to enter through the airway and gather behind the lungs. Now, as they go, they collect trace elements from the body that they need to complete an explosive compound which, once created, causes the tumor to reach critical mass and explode. We aren't talking about something small here. We're talking catastrophic. An explosion of this magnitude could bring down the tower if we let these things reach critical mass. These things were intended to blow a hole through the hull of a hive ship."

"We need to get them under a scanner—now," Carson said, emphatically.

"I'll organize an ordnance disposal crew," Sheppard put in.

Weir stood up and spoke, "We need to set up an operating room on a lower level of an unpopulated part of the city. Can you do that, Carson?"

Carson frowned. "Yes, but I'll have to wake up a lot of people to do it."

"Do that. John, I want you to help me find the right location for that room."

John nodded.

Weir gestured at Carson. "Ok. Get these people to the infirmary. It sounds like we're going to have to work fast to contain this. I'll get back to you soon with the location for the surgery."

Carson shepherded Hewston and Watson, who both looked completely bewildered, toward the door. Before he walked out he turned to Rodney and said, "I thought you were going back to bed?"

"I was. I did," Rodney said tiredly.

"What made you go back and research the device, then?" Carson asked.

Rodney looked sheepish and gestured halfheartedly at Emily. "Ah, Emily made me do it, actually."

Carson frowned, shaking his head, and called out, "Emily—good work. You just saved at least two people's lives, probably many more."

Everyone cleared out except for Weir, Rodney and Emily. Weir was asking a few more questions. When she was satisfied, she asked Rodney to step out of the room so that she could speak to Emily, privately.

Emily felt a twinge of adrenaline as Rodney sent her a questioning look and walked out. She couldn't imagine what she'd done to command Weir's wrath this time. She sank back into a chair before furtively meeting Dr. Weir's gaze.

Weir sat on the edge of the conference table nearby and paused, her lips pressed in a thin line. "Dr. Freedman, I owe you an apology."

Emily blinked in confusion.

"I'm embarrassed to say that I jumped to conclusions after receiving some bad information—several. . . pieces of bad information, actually, and I completely mischaracterized you in an unjust light. After speaking at length with Dr. Jackson and with Rodney, I can see now that you are a very capable, very caring individual, who works diligently for the betterment of our situation here. I want you to know that I appreciate the work you're doing and, in the case of tonight, I appreciate your help keeping Rodney on track."

Emily's mouth worked to say something, but nothing would come out.

"Yes, that detail wasn't lost on me. Please accept my sincere apology and let me thank you for the lives you saved tonight."

"Of course, Dr. Weir. Please, don't give it another moment's thought," she said, haltingly.

"We're glad to have you here in Atlantis. Now, go get some rest and enjoy tomorrow."

"Thank you," Emily stammered. "I'm honored to be here."

Weir rose and headed to the control room to confer with Sheppard. Emily stayed put for the moment and slumped in the chair, tiredly closing her eyes.

Rodney came back in. "Hey, what was that about?"

She smiled at him weakly. "It was an apology," she said simply and got up to collect the things they had brought with them.

"Oh. Huh. That's good."

"Yes. Now I don't have to worry about Weir sending me back to Earth. All I have to worry about is Wraith, Replicators, and exploding tumors. What a relief."

"Hm. Look, I'm going to go see if they need any help finding a place for the surgery. Why don't you go back to bed?"

She turned to him and put a hand on his chest. "No. I'm going down to the infirmary to help move equipment."

"Emily, you don't have to do that," he chided gently.

"I know I don't. I want to. I'm awake now. I might as well do something useful. The faster they can operate on those two, the better." She bussed his lips lightly, turning to go.

"Wait," he said and pulled her closer. He squeezed her and seemed reluctant to let her go. His lips were hovering near her ear and he whispered roughly, "I. . . love you, Emily."

She gripped him harder. It was the first time he'd spoken the words, though he'd alluded to them in roundabout ways several times over the last week. "I know," she answered urgently and slid her cheek against his until their lips made contact.

He kissed her thoroughly, pulled back, sniffed, and looking shy, said, "Be careful, ok?"

"I will. I promise."

* * *

When she reached the infirmary, things were chaotic. She held back for a moment, looking for a familiar face, trying to assess the situation. Then she recognized the nurse who had come through the intergalactic gate bridge with her.

"Nancy, what can I do to help?"

"Stay out of the way," Nancy ordered brusquely and turned away to locate some other supplies.

Emily stood there, feeling a bit stupid for thinking she could help, when Rodney came over the radio. "Emily, we've located a satellite medical facility on the outskirts of the city. I've been trying to access it remotely so I can turn on the room's disinfection system, but I can't do that from here. Could you do it?"

"Ok. It doesn't look like I'll be much help here, anyway. Tell me where to go."

"I've just sent Carson the location on his laptop. Is he there?"

"I don't see him."

"Ok, I'll just walk you through it, then, so pay attention."

He started directing her through the corridors. She was glad he didn't expect her to follow a map because she would have gotten lost after the third turn. After a while, he picked her up on the city's internal sensors and could see exactly where she was. The city was dark there except for the occasional flashes of lightning. The halls lit up dimly in front of her as she walked down the corridor.

"It's pretty spooky down here, Rodney," she commented.

"I'm sure it is. I'm sorry you had to go by yourself. There should be a medical team right behind you. Ok, it should be twenty feet in front of you."

"I see it." She thought, _open door_, and the door opened in front of her. "Ok, I'm in. There are a lot of consoles and equipment."

"Find the main console."

She rolled her eyes and stopped talking to him because it was obvious he wouldn't be able to help her figure it out from where he was. She walked around the room, consoles and displays lighting up around her. There was one off to the side that looked bigger than the rest and she went over to it, pulled off the thin sheet of plastic that covered it, and examined the controls. She touched the crystal that would activate a menu, then scrolled through until she found the room controls. Once there she found the control for the disinfection system. It prompted her to activate or not.

"Emily, did you find it?" he barked.

"Yes," she hissed. "Now give me a minute so I can think, before I end up in the same kind of trouble as Watson and Hewston, ok?"

"Ok," he said, sounding hurt.

She sighed and backed up the menu, looking for something that would tell her how the disinfection system worked. She doggedly explored the system, knowing how easily she could make a mistake. "What I wouldn't give for a mocha frappuccino right now," she muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing. I'm trying to find out how the disinfection systems work, so I don't inadvertently fry myself. Can you access that information from there?"

"Let me look," he countered.

She heard noises behind her and turned to see medical personnel arriving with carts loaded down with supplies.

Carson came in to stand beside her. "What are you up to now, love?"

Rodney was talking in her ear so she held up a finger.

"It looks like you execute the command and then you have thirty seconds to leave the room. Warning bells will sound while the room is being disinfected and then you'll hear a chime and the doors will open."

"Ok, but how does it work? What sort of mechanism does it use?"

"It looks like it uses a combination of air filtration, ultra-violet light and a micronized disinfecting gas."

"Ok, Carson did you hear that?"

"Yes, I did."

"I assume you'll want your equipment to be as sterile as possible after the trip down here, so maybe it's best if you put it inside the room before we activate this?"

"Of course. You don't have a laptop hooked up to access the controls?"

"No, I'm sorry, I don't know how to do that, but I can access it manually for you. Is there anything else I can access for you that you'll need?"

"No, just the disinfection system." He turned and started motioning for the medics to bring in the equipment.

She sagged against a wall and watched them bring it all in.

Carson came over and said, "You're a handy lady to have around tonight. As soon as you get this room disinfected, I expect you to get to bed. You aren't looking too lively."

She managed a grim smile and nodded. Once Carson had everything arranged the way he wanted, they cleared the room and she activated the disinfection system. She curled up on a dusty lounge chair in the corridor and waited with the surgical team, then watched as they wheeled Hewston and Watson in on gurneys, already anesthetized.

She got on the radio and said, "Control room, the surgery is about to begin. All non-essential personnel should clear the area except for the ordnance disposal team."

"Yes," she heard Carson speaking over the radio, "and that includes you, Emily. Get to bed and take the day off tomorrow—that's an order."

She was wearily heading back to the central tower when she heard Rodney looking for her on the radio.

"Emily, where are you?"

"I'm heading back to the control room."

"No need. Let's go back to bed."

"Ok. Meet me in our quarters then?"

She came out of a corridor near the central tower and wandered around a bit, trying to get her bearings. Finally she saw a landmark she recognized and started hiking in the right direction. When she reached the junction that led to the control room, she was surprised to see Rodney waiting there for her.

"Did you get lost? I was thinking about coming to look for you."

"Maybe a little. Sorry. It's a long slog back here and I'm dead on my feet."

He grabbed her hand, squeezing it, and they started walking again.

He was smiling. "You said something earlier and I wondered if you knew you said it."

"Oh, crap, what did I do now?" she whimpered.

He gave her a funny, inquisitive look. "Nothing bad. You just said, 'our quarters.' Did you know you said that?"

"I did? Huh. What about it?"

"I just like the sound of it," he said, smiling to himself.

When they reached the bedroom, she immediately went to the alarm clock and reset it to go off a couple of hours later than usual. As it was, that would barely be four hours of sleep, not nearly enough, but doable. She stripped down and climbed into bed. He settled in next to her and she was out like a light.

* * *

She awoke to the jarring sound of the alarm. It took a long time to gather any coherent thought. When she finally opened her eyes, she saw Rodney staggering over to her side of the bed to turn it off. It was still dark from the storm. "Is it morning already?" she croaked.

"The alarm's been going off for at least five minutes. Couldn't you hear it?" he demanded peevishly.

She rolled over, got comfortable, and ignored him, drifting off again.

He sat heavily on the edge of the bed with a long suffering sigh and started speaking into his radio, "This is McKay. Can I get a status report on Hewston and Watson?"

That brought her into a more conscious state. She groaned and turned back to him, trying to keep her eyes open.

He was rubbing his face and nodding. "Good. McKay out." He looked back at her. "They got the tumors out. They're still monitoring them every half hour for signs of another tumor forming, but so far, nothing. They made it through the surgeries fine and the tumors were disposed of safely. You going back to sleep? You should, you know. Take the day off, Emily."

"No. I'm getting up," she said and struggled to sit up, stretching and yawning. "I'll be good as new after a shower," she said, padding off to the bathroom. "You should go visit them in the infirmary this morning."

"Mm," was his reply.

She turned back to him. "I can't afford to have one of those sleeping fits, right now, Rodney. I'm depending on you to wake me up every morning until Daniel leaves—you know that, right?"

He frowned.

"Right?"

* * *

She felt mostly human by the time she reached her lab, carrying two coffees—both for her. The overhead lighting seemed strange and dim because of the storm still brewing outside. Daniel was there with Neumann and Graden, poking around at a device while three people entering data on the other side of the room worked steadily on their own.

"I'm sorry I'm late, Daniel," she said, assessing the activity in the room and taking a long draw on one of the coffees. It was already half-gone, she realized.

"Don't worry about it. I heard about your midnight adventures from Colonel Sheppard at breakfast. You made a good call. You saved some lives."

"Paranoia can come in handy sometimes," she said flatly. "What are you up to?"

"Well, we're way ahead of them on the data entry. So I thought I'd take a look at this, since you weren't here. It looks very much like the long-range communication device Vala and I used to transfer our consciousness to the Ori galaxy last year, but in many ways it's different. It only has one place for a stone, for one thing, and apparently the stone it uses is a different shape—larger, more circular. That said, I don't see anything around that fits."

She scowled, watching him turn the device and examine it closely. "I looked at it briefly after I arrived and never saw a corresponding stone. Maybe it's an early prototype of the communication device? It's much smaller too, maybe one-third the size of the device you found under the hill at Glastonbury, don't you think?" She came closer and asked Neumann, "What kind of readings are you getting from it?"

"There's a faint energy signature. I believe it's already initialized," Neumann replied. "I'd like to compare these readings with those Dr. Lee took on Earth."

"Do we have that information here on base?" Emily asked.

Neumann nodded.

A sharp crack of lightning made Emily jump.

"Please access that then." Emily peered at the device with disdain. "How would it have been initialized? No one should have touched it. And why didn't the Ancients put an off-button on these damn things?" she said crossly.

Daniel looked at her with raised eyebrows, "You feeling ok?"

"Fine. I haven't been looking forward to getting some of these devices out—this one in particular. I'm surprised you'd want to study it after what happened." She had to raise her voice a bit. Rain was pelting the windows again, a soft roar in the background.

"Call it morbid fascination," he said, pressing his lips together in a slight frown, his eyes never leaving the device.

"Have you looked in the database to see if there's an entry for it? Sometimes you can find a lab inventory if you put in the location of the lab it was found in, but many times we have nothing to go on."

"No, I haven't done that yet," he said, his gloved hands tilting the device as he scrutinized it further. "Actually, I just got it out moments ago."

"Today is the mandatory rest day," she said testily. "I'm surprised everyone is here." She picked up a notebook and opened it to the page where they'd left off the day before.

"I think they're trying to please you. They know how important this is to you and how hard you're pushing yourself. I don't think they'd take it off without your permission," he said kindly, joining her, and peeling off the gloves.

"Do you think I should tell them to go?"

"That's up to you. You're in charge."

"We're making so much progress—I would hate to slow things down now." She wasn't feeling terribly decisive. In fact, she was feeling the pressure of a headache building behind her eyes, which was very irritating.

He just looked at her expectantly.

She took a deep breath and tapped her forehead. "I'll, um, I'll just tell them they can have two days off after you leave, how's that?"

"Sounds reasonable. Are you sure you're ok? Maybe you could use a day off. I can do other things around here today."

"I'm fine," she snapped. "Why does everyone want to tell me to take time off all the time? I'm just fine, ok?" She blasted him with an indignant look.

He put up his hands and raised his eyebrows, but didn't say anything.

"Sorry," she muttered darkly. She approached the people entering data, tersely thanked them for coming in, and promised them an extra day when Daniel left. Then she returned to her work station, trying not to betray how tired she felt, and sat down to work.

Rodney came in a short time later. She forced a smile and tried not to bristle at the interruption. Daniel rose to give them some privacy.

"Hewston and Watson asked me to thank you. Maybe you should go visit them too?"

"I'm glad they're ok. I probably should. They've worked with me from time to time," she said reluctantly, looking down at her notes. "I guess Carson won't be taking you fishing today, then?"

"No," he said with a smile. "Dodged a bullet, there."

"Too bad. You might have liked it once you gave it a try."

"Mm," he said, looking doubtful. "How long are you going to work today?"

He looked hopeful and sweet and she wished she didn't feel so annoyed. The fatigue and the headache combined were making her feel tense and all the coffee she was gulping down wasn't helping that at all, she was sure. "Just through dinner, I guess," she said.

"Early or late? I'd like to go to bed early tonight," he said softly, edging closer to her.

She smiled conspiratorially, remembering her promise to make more time for him today. "Early, I suppose."

His eyes twinkled a bit, she thought, and he said, "Good," and got up to go.

She rose to say goodbye, but noted Neumann had returned and was peering at the device again with a perplexed expression on her face. "What is it, Ada?"

"The energy readings are quite different from the communications device from Earth," Neumann replied absently.

"It's not emitting radiation, or anything like that, is it?" Emily asked, looking at the device with alarm.

"No, but this is strange. The energy signature has changed. Power levels have risen and continue to rise," Neumann commented.

"Let me see that," Rodney demanded and took the instrument from her.

"Em, look at this," Daniel said, pointing. A small, round nodule, about the size of a silver dollar, and composed of some kind of silicone-looking material, was glowing green on the side of the device.

"I didn't notice that before," she said, coming closer, strangely fascinated by the fluorescent glow. Lightning flashed, followed closely by a splintering boom, but this time she didn't jump. She drew closer to the device, feeling strangely serene, compelled to get a closer look.

"I didn't either. It must have just started," Daniel commented.

She squatted down, inches from the device. Daniel backed up, allowing her to get closer. She squinted at it, driven still closer by curiosity. A wave of tranquility washed over her, pushing away all other feeling. She blinked at the sensation. But there was no time to process it. An inexorable urge to touch the silicone nodule overrode all other thought.

"Em, what are you doing?" Daniel said. He sounded worried. That was strange.

It promised. It was pleasant and calm. She touched it. It filled her with joy.

"Emily? Son of a bitch! Emily!" Rodney was yelling. How odd.

Everything went blank.


	26. Chapter 26 currere run

She came to with strangers surrounding her, saying things like, "Emily, are you ok?" She didn't know who Emily was or why they looked so concerned. She returned their gazes blankly, trying to remember how she got there. She couldn't remember anything, now that she thought of it, but she didn't seem to care.

A second later, she thought that might be odd.

They helped her up from the floor. She must have fallen and hurt herself, she decided, and felt her head, absently, for any contusions. Nothing hurt except for a slight, dull headache. She felt pretty tired too, but none of that seemed to matter.

She felt like smiling, so she did.

Two men and a woman crowded her, scrutinizing her with a vibrating intensity, and four more people were on the other side of the room, standing, curiously observing. That was strange, she thought idly. The thought flashed through her mind that she might be the subject of some kind of experiment. This looked like some kind of laboratory. Instruments. Tools. Computers. Had they done something to her? Maybe they had hurt her.

Funny, she thought, it seemed inconsequential. Shouldn't she care more? She furrowed her brow and tried to think hard for a clue about what was happening, but came up completely blank.

_Oh, look at that. It's raining outside._

One of the men grabbed her arm, gripping her painfully. He looked alarmed. His eyes were wide and blue. He demanded, "Emily, are you ok? What just happened?"

She shook him off and stepped back, prickling with a trickle of panic that was steadily growing. She realized her back was to a wall and she edged away from him, slowly and deliberately, saying, "I don't know who Emily is."

He followed her, holding up a hand, trying to placate her. Trepidation grew. What was this place? What had they done?

She warned him, "No, no! Get back. I don't know what you've done to me. I don't trust you."

Her eyes darted around the room. There was only one door. There were four people between her and that door—and they all looked freaked out.

"You are Emily," he said, but he didn't look very calm and she found that disturbing.

He kept trying to get closer, but she didn't want him to. Alarm seeped through her, tensing her limbs to run.

"It's me, Rodney. It's ok. We're going to get help now." He turned to the others and angrily barked at them to radio for a medical team.

Panic roiled, leaving no room for rationality. Her thoughts were turbulent and filled only with escape. They were distracted. She broke for the door. He tried to grab her as she sprinted past, but she pushed him back, surprised by her own strength. He hit the floor hard. She got to the door, but she didn't know how to open it.

_Oh, crap! No knobs? _ She pounded it for a second, urgently whispering, "Open, open!" She could hear they were almost upon her. It opened. She was free, running blindly through a maze of corridors, none of which were familiar. There were strangers walking by and they looked shocked to see her running past, but no one tried to stop her.

She had to find somewhere to hide so that she could figure out what had happened, how to get away, or how to get help.

They were going to chase her, she felt sure.

She found an empty corridor and stopped for a moment, gasping for breath, trembling with the strain of standing still. She looked down at herself for the first time. She was dressed just like they were. It must be some kind of uniform.

She was clearly not a runner, she thought, panting. Her leg muscles burned and her breath tore at her throat. What else could she tell about herself? She frantically plucked at pockets, but found nothing—no identification, no money, just a rubber band for her hair. She pulled a strand of hair out in front of her eyes. Light brown curls. How could she not even know what she looked like? What had they done to her?

As her breathing slowed slightly she realized she could hear voices in her head, talking. They kept saying the name he had been saying: Emily. And also Dr. Freedman. They were also looking for a Dr. Freedman. Could that be another name for her? Could she be a doctor? She didn't feel like a doctor. She felt like prey.

She explored her head again, trying to locate the source of the voices. She found a small device on her ear and looked at it curiously. It trembled in her shaking fingers. It must be some kind of radio. It seemed impossibly small. It occurred to her that she might be able to listen to them, to use it to her advantage to elude them, so she put it back on her ear and tried to pay attention.

She heard the sounds of heavy boot-steps coming down the hall. Her eyes darted around, but there was nowhere to go and she couldn't go back the way she came—there were too many people down that corridor. She ducked her head and started walking, trying to pass as normal. She put all of her effort into making her breathing calm, so they wouldn't look at her twice. It was difficult. She was thrumming with fear. They were soldiers. Her eyes flared. They had guns. As they drew close, she furtively looked into their faces and saw recognition.

She bolted again, running past them. They grabbed at her, shouting, and running after her, but somehow the adrenaline surge got her out ahead of them and she darted down a short corridor. They didn't shoot. Thank God they weren't shooting. She found another corridor that branched like spokes from a wheel. She picked a branch at random and tore down it, hoping she lost them there. There seemed to be nowhere to hide in this place. How could it be all endless corridors going nowhere? Suddenly she saw a door and went to it, touching it, quietly begging it to open. It did.

She stumbled inside. Lights came on in the room. She could hear voices in the hall. The door was still open. She silently prayed that it would close to conceal her—and to her surprise it did. She looked wildly around for a place to hide. It looked very much like the room she had just awoken in. Another science lab, she thought, with people as the subjects. Crouching behind a table of some sort, she pressed shaky fingers to her lips to still her ragged breathing, afraid it might be heard through the door.

Clearly no one was going to rescue her and how would she even know if they were? If she couldn't even recognize herself, how could she recognize help?

She pushed down the panic and focused on the earpiece. It was hard to concentrate. She thought it might help her elude capture, but it was all gibberish. They were organizing search teams and assigning sections of a city, but none of the designations they mentioned had any meaning to her. Then it occurred to her—if such a small piece of technology could transmit, like a radio, it might also be used to pinpoint her location. She couldn't take the risk. She took it off her ear and ground it under her shoe.

No one came into the room. Long minutes passed. She'd heard footsteps in the hall shortly after entering, but they hadn't come into the room. She sank wearily to the floor and weighed her options. There was a strong urge to lie down and sleep, now that she was calmer, but she couldn't give in to that. She'd be caught for sure and she didn't want to find out what they would do to her next. She wearily searched the room. There was no food or drink here, just dusty junk, and very little of that.

She uncovered some kind of console and suppressed a wave of hysterical laughter because it resembled some kind of musical instrument. It lit up under her touch, projecting a display on a section of the wall. It was a computer terminal, she realized. There were words there, on the wall. It took some effort to read them, but she was able to decipher it. She touched a clear key that she thought meant search and the display changed. She tentatively touched a few more keys, navigating toward a map. A snowflake-shaped diagram came into view with a small red dot, indicating where she was. Now the corridors outside made more sense. She studied the map intensely. She had to find her way to the edge of this complex, in order to escape.

* * *

Rodney picked himself off the floor, exclaiming, "Son of a bitch! What just happened here?" He glared at the remaining occupants of the room, who all looked stunned, and bellowed at them, "Don't just stand there, do something!"

He started for the door, limping a little because his left hip felt badly bruised, but Daniel was coming back in, made eye contact with him, and shook his head.

"Why didn't you go after her?" Rodney growled angrily.

Daniel frowned. "I did. But she was sprinting like a 16-year-old track star, Rodney. I couldn't keep up with that. I lost sight of her where there were several forks in the corridors. We'll need to send out search parties."

"Dammit! This never should have happened!" He took a menacing step toward Daniel and roared, spittle flying, "You better figure out what the hell that thing does and how to reverse it by the time I find her!"

He was seething. He turned away from Daniel before he did something stupid like punching him and stabbed at the radio on his ear, "Sheppard, come in!"

* * *

She studied the map as long as she dared. She had to get moving. It was only a matter of time before they started searching this area more thoroughly.

She went to the door. The damn things were such a mystery. She didn't know what made them open. It didn't seem to be motion. She touched it. It wasn't touch. Finally she whispered in frustration, "Oh, open already!" and blinked with surprise when it actually did.

She poked her head cautiously into the hall. It was empty. She took off at a jog. Her muscles were cramping with fatigue but she ignored that and pushed on. She had to make it to the edge of the complex. Occasionally she passed a window and ducked down so she wouldn't be seen. She caught glimpses of towers and spires against a leaden sky.

The architecture was incredible. Under different circumstances she'd want to take the time to appreciate it, she thought, and stopped for a moment, thinking. That was the first thought she'd had that revealed any kind of personality. But there was no time to think about that now. Her eyes darted up and down the corridor. The hallway remained empty and she pressed on.

After some time, she saw daylight at the end of the corridor and pushed herself as hard as she could to get there. It would be the end of the spoke, leading to the edge of the compound and hopefully to escape. As she took the last few steps, she stumbled and fell to her knees in shock. There was a breezeway, encircling the compound with plenty of large plate windows showing views of. . . water. . . in every direction. Ocean. Or some other large body of water. There was no land visible. She panted and looked around incredulously. There was no escape from here. Not even a boat in sight. She put a fist to her forehead and tried to think what to do next. Her only option was to follow the breezeway around the circumference to see if there was land on one of the other sides.

* * *

Rodney glared malevolently at the occupants of the archeology lab, filled with impotent rage. Sheppard was organizing search teams. Daniel was looking in the database, trying to determine what the device had done to Emily. What should he be doing? He stabbed a finger in the air towards Neumann. "You—keep taking readings from that thing until you figure out what it does."

He sank onto a stool. Why had she touched it? What had it done to her? It was clear she didn't recognize anyone or even know who she was and when she'd pushed him, he'd gone down like a stack of bricks. He didn't know she had that kind of strength in her. And Daniel was right, she'd been moving fast, incredibly fast. He shook off his fears and concerns and tried to think logically. She was running away, clearly didn't trust anyone. Where would she go? What would she do? Would she hide?

He stood up and touched his radio. "Zelenka, where are you?"

"Control room. I'm looking at internal sensors to see if I can figure out which little dot is her, like when we had Phebus and Thalen running amuck in the city."

"Got anything yet?"

"Not yet. The search parties are scattered and just beginning to search. It's hard to tell who is who yet. But I did detect, just a moment ago, that someone accessed an Ancient console in an unused lab on the northwest pier. That isn't far from her last known location. It might have been her. I reported it to Sheppard and he's sending a team there now."

"Good," he sighed. Maybe they were getting close to finding her. Daniel was approaching him hesitantly. He turned and barked, "What?"

"I know what it does," Daniel said uneasily.

Elizabeth came into the lab. "I've been listening to the radio chatter. They haven't found her yet. Have you made any progress at finding out what the device does?"

"Ah, yes," Daniel said. "But you aren't going to like it. This device, apparently, is. . . the Ancient version of. . . prison."

Rodney looked at him in disbelief, "What? How?"

"Yes, how?" Weir echoed.

"Well, rather than storing people in large facilities the way we do on Earth, the Ancients apparently stored a criminal's memories instead, rendering the individual virtually harmless and able to start life over as a productive member of society, with only the most fundamental knowledge of everyday life left intact—but all experiences, memories, recognition of others and themselves just wiped away, like a clean slate."

Rodney sagged onto a stool. "Oh, God. This can't be happening."

"The device was designed so that the suspected criminal wouldn't know that they were about to be wiped. Anyone in proximity experiencing intense emotions such as anger or fear would be drawn to the device and compelled to touch it. The jailers would just calmly stand by and watch. The Ancients didn't care for big scenes, apparently."

Daniel continued, speaking rapidly, his reluctant fascination with the device clearly evident. "Early experiments with this technology showed that the individuals undergoing the procedure often experienced an intense and potentially dangerous adrenaline surge immediately after being wiped. So, they incorporated some kind of brain wave modulator, that for the very short term, would induce feelings of euphoria—at which time they would put the individual in restraints or isolation until the adrenaline subsided. The individual's memories could be scanned for proof of guilt and then, if found guilty, the criminal would go through some kind of educational re-training program and be re-introduced to society."

Weir put a hand on Rodney's shoulder. "Can it be reversed?"

Daniel looked uncomfortable. "Yes. But that's where it gets hairy. The device itself will store the memories for three days before the memories start to degrade. But for longer storage, and to access the suspected criminal's memories as proof of guilt, there was a stone that fit in that indentation," he said, gesturing at the device. "All she need do is touch the stone and her memory will be restored."

Rodney groaned. "Let me guess—we don't know where that stone is, do we?"

Daniel pressed his lips together in a line and shook his head. "No. But we have some places to look."

Rodney looked from Weir to Jackson in dismay.

Elizabeth squeezed his shoulder and spoke to him gently, "Rodney, assign him a team to go looking for it. Who would be able to help him best?"

Rodney squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to think critically. "Ah, just take Neumann and Grasen. They're here. Zelenka can help once we find Emily."

Zelenka's voice came over the radio then, "Rodney, we've pinpointed her location. Sheppard has eyes on her now."

Rodney stood and looked to Elizabeth for support.

Elizabeth touched her radio and said, "John, be careful. She may be unpredictable. She won't recognize you and she's frightened."

He heard John's voice, saying quietly, "Copy that."

* * *

It seemed like she'd been walking for hours. She didn't have much energy left and all she could see out the windows was endless, unrelenting water. Hope was starting to flag. At least this portion of the compound was unused or uninhabited. She was thirsty, but had no idea where to find fresh drinking water. She considered going back down one of the spokes toward the center, but discarded that idea as too dangerous. Better to stay farther away from discovery and keep going. That was the best she could do for a plan.

She decided to rest for a minute to regain some strength. She sagged against a wall, sliding to the floor limply. She pulled her knees toward her chest and rested her forehead there. What had happened to her? She tried to think it through logically, but the fatigue made it difficult. She was dressed like they were. He'd said he was going to help her. They'd all looked shocked and upset. Could it be that she had misinterpreted what had happened? Maybe there had been some kind of accident? The soldiers hadn't fired on her. That had to be a good sign. They could have killed her, had they wanted to. It was completely bewildering. She had no framework on which to base an opinion. What would have happened if she had trusted them? It was impossible to speculate.

She opened her eyes, ready to rise and move on, when her shirt gaped and something caught her eye, moving underneath it. It was a gold chain. She pulled at it curiously and found a small medallion swinging at the end. It was lovely, she thought, examining it. Then she turned it over and her breath caught in her throat. It was a small picture of the man who had grabbed her, who had said he would help her. _Oh, no. Oh, God. _ He was someone important to her. Who could he be? Her brother, her husband? She didn't even know how old she was. Could he be her father?

She rose and tried to look for a reflection in the glass, but couldn't get more than the faintest impression of herself, which told her nothing. She struggled to make sense of it. She wouldn't be wearing a picture of someone who could hurt her, she was sure. These people must be her friends. She shouldn't have run from them. She groaned with dismay. She had destroyed the communications device and now her only choice was to turn back and accept their help. She wearily turned away from the glass and found there were men approaching her from every angle, holding weapons.

She swallowed convulsively and called out, "I won't resist. I'll come with you."

A man with dark, messy hair approached her warily. "Emily? Do you know who I am?"

"No. I don't. Please don't hurt me," she pleaded, taking a step back and bumping into the window.

"No one is going to hurt you," he replied calmly, still watching her carefully. "Lower your weapons," he commanded the other men. Then, he tapped his ear and spoke, "McKay, we've got her. We'll take her to the infirmary now."

She slowly removed the chain from her neck and outstretched her arm, handing it to him. "Will you take me to this man?" she asked, her eyes darting from man to man as they continued to close in on her, forming a protective circle she couldn't break.

He looked at the charm curiously, then shot her a quirky grin, snorting in amusement. "I will. But first we need to get you to the infirmary so we can find out what happened to you, ok?"

She nodded assent and he came closer, putting a protective arm around her and they started walking. The other men fell into step silently behind them. He shot her an uncomfortable look, "How are you feeling? You ok?"

"I'm exhausted. Thirsty."

He gestured for someone to hand him a water and she slaked her thirst greedily while he watched.

"So, it sounds like you don't remember anything?"

"No," she answered, wiping her mouth on her sleeve. "Nothing."

"Well, that's ok," he said blandly, shrugging. "Once, I almost turned into a bug and they managed to fix me. You'll be fine in no time."

She furrowed her brow and looked at him, trying to determine if he was being serious. He seemed non-threatening and sincere. She would have to take his statement at face value for now.

"Who is the man on the charm? To me? Is he my husband?"

"Oh, yeah," he said, handing the gold chain back to her. "Well, he's Rodney McKay. He's a scientist. Really smart—too smart for his own good, if you ask me. And he's your boyfriend."

"Do you know him?" she asked as she replaced it around her neck.

"Yep. He's a member of my team. Gotten me out of more scrapes than I can count. He's a good guy. He'll figure out what happened to you and fix it." He sounded certain.

She held his gaze and asked the question that was gnawing at her, "If. . . if I have nothing to fear from you, can you tell me why you and your men were pointing weapons at me?"

A strange, chagrined look passed over his features. "Oh, well, these are just stunners. They don't do any real harm. You'd already gotten away twice, so we were just being careful. The safest place for you now is the infirmary until we can figure out what happened to you."

She wasn't entirely convinced and wondered what kind of dangerous place this was, that there needed to be so many soldiers carrying weapons around. Hopefully, those answers would come with time.


	27. Chapter 27 vacuo empty

The infirmary was a big open space. She wasn't confined or sedated, although she did note that John assigned someone to stay nearby. A doctor named Carson seemed to be sympathetic and friendly. She couldn't help herself—she asked him question after question as he performed scans and drew blood. He couldn't tell her what happened to her as he said he wasn't precisely sure himself, but he got out her medical file and went over the basics with her—her date of birth, age, height, the names of her parents.

He also produced a mirror which she stared at in dismay for quite some time, marveling at the strange face, apparently her own, and smoothing down the buoyant, wayward curls that formed a haphazard cloud around her head. After a while, he asked if she would like to receive a visitor.

She sat up. "Someone wants to see me?"

"Aye. He's been quite impatiently waiting since you arrived. Shall I send him in?"

"I suppose so," she said nervously. She knew who it must be—the man from the lab, who was pictured on the small medallion around her neck.

He came in then, looking worried and shy. He didn't say anything and she didn't know what to say either. She guessed they were assessing each other, perhaps even in a similar way. She would certainly be different from what he remembered and she didn't remember him at all. He was handsome, she thought. He had lovely blue eyes that looked terribly troubled. He looked like a character, she decided. Someone with big personality. That was good, right?

Finally, she spoke, "You are Rodney McKay?"

He looked mildly surprised and a little hopeful. He started to speak and only a creaking noise came out. He cleared his throat and tried again, "Yes, do you remember me?"

She ruefully gave her head a little shake in the negative. "Do you know what happened to me?"

Her reply seemed to wound him, but he recovered quickly. "You touched a device and it, ah, took your memories. It was an accident and we are working—all of our best people—very, very hard to fix it."

"An accident? A device? How?"

He looked uncertain. He was trying to decide how much to tell her, she was sure. "We're trying to figure that out now."

She shook her head, bewildered. "But where did it come from? Did you invent this device? How is something like that even possible?"

"No, I didn't invent it. We found it. Does the name Ancient mean anything to you?" he asked hopefully.

"Ancient? As a name?" she searched her mind for recognition, but nothing was there. "No. It doesn't," she said, disappointed.

"Emily, it would take me days to explain everything to you now in a way that you could understand and Carson doesn't think that will help you right now. Just. . . leave it to me. I'll figure out a way to get you back—" He cut himself off and clammed up, looking pained.

She watched him uneasily. She considered demanding more information, but was reluctant to upset him further. She decided to change tactics for now and to try to be patient. "I'm sorry I pushed you. I—"

"No, no, no, no, no—don't worry about that. It's ok," he said, gesturing dismissively but not quite meeting her eyes.

"I just, I couldn't tell what was happening, you know, so I thought it would be safest to get away and I didn't realize you must be. . . a friend, until I saw the necklace." She pulled the necklace from under the white scrubs she was wearing.

His eyes flared and he came a step closer. "Oh, that. Yes, yes. I gave you that," he said softly, his eyes flitting over her face.

She smiled at him hesitantly and compared his appearance to the one on the pendant. "I recognized you instantly, of course. This picture is sort of funny though—you look so proud—does it have some kind of meaning?"

He shook his head mutely and swallowed.

She laid back, tucking the necklace back into her shirt, and felt uncomfortable. He was looking at her with such hurt and longing, it was painful. And yet, if they meant something to each other, how could she send him away? She closed her eyes and sighed deeply, wishing she knew what to do, to say, to make him feel better.

He looked alarmed. "Are you ok? Carson says all your tests came back normal so far."

"I'm fine, I guess," she said, plucking at the sheets. "I'm just really, really tired."

"You haven't been sleeping enough," he said, his chin raising in a funny sort of way. Was this some point of contention between them?

"Really? Why?"

"Well, you've been working really hard on a project that's really important to you. You're really, ah, devoted and passionate about your work."

"What do I do?" she asked, intrigued. Now she was finally finding something out about herself.

"You're an archeologist."

She returned his stare, mystified. "I am? In that lab—I was working on archeology related. . . things?"

"Yes." He peered at her quizzically. "Do you know what that means?"

"Well," she said, thinking carefully, "An archeologist takes objects, very old objects, and tries to understand things about past civilizations by studying them, right?"

"Yes," he said, smiling slightly, though he still looked pained.

"Hm. I don't feel like an archeologist," she said, feeling unnerved.

He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "How do you think an archeologist would feel?"

"Like someone who knows something!" she cried out in anguish and immediately regretted it. He had flinched. "I'm sorry," she said, taking his hand to reassure him without thinking. "This must be terrible for you too. I shouldn't make it worse for you."

"You can say whatever you want to say, Emily," he said gruffly and reached out to pull a chair closer, without letting go of her hand.

She was glad he wasn't letting go. Evidence of his feelings for her were written all over his face and she felt it was safe to trust that. She squeezed his hand and tried to smile.

"Why don't you try to nap a little?" he said. "You might feel better."

"Will you stay a while?" she asked, trying not to put too much emotion into her voice. She felt such terrible loneliness and his presence was a small comfort.

"Of course," he said, worriedly scanning her face.

She closed her eyes then, trying to relax, and focusing on the warm, solid feeling of his hand in hers. Her mind was full of questions and they were piling up on each other, like a traffic jam. She tried to imagine something serene, like a forest or a garden or a bright blue sky. Slowly the questions ebbed away and she floated quietly in the sea of sleep.

* * *

When she awoke, he was gone and she was surprised to realize that she felt disappointed. She sat up and looked around. Her environment had changed while she slept. There were two other patients in beds nearby. The doctor was talking to them. Her stomach growled and she put a hand over it, embarrassed at how loud it had been.

The doctor came to her bedside. "There you are, love. Did you have a good sleep, then? It was certainly a long one."

"Ah, yes. What happened to—"

"Rodney? Well, he sat there with you for a long time, but you've been asleep for at least six hours. You don't do anything by half," he chuckled. "Will you be hungry, then? I can send for a tray."

"Yes. I'm starving," she said gratefully.

"Ok. I'm sure Rodney will stop by again soon. But in the meantime, I temporarily moved a couple of patients over for some company. Meet Dr. Hewston and Dr. Watson. To them, I'm afraid you're something of a celebrity. You saved their lives last night. They aren't terribly talkative because they just had major surgery. But, company is company," he said cheerfully as he walked away.

She called out to him before he went away, "Wait a minute. I thought I was an archeologist. How could I. . . ?"

The woman in the next bed was watching her. She smiled weakly and said, "You are an archeologist. And you did save us—from our own stupidity. For that, James and I will always be grateful."

_What a strange thing to say,_ she thought. "But how? How does an archeologist save people? Don't I just study dirty old stone tablets and keep my nose in books? I don't understand."

"It's complicated," Hewston said, looking tired. "But you made Dr. McKay look into something that none of us thought was important. You were the only one who could see how dangerous the mistake we'd made could be. That's what saved us." Hewston shifted uncomfortably.

Emily watched her. The story niggled at her. It was too vague. There was more to this, she was sure, but she hated to press someone who clearly was in worse shape than she was herself. "What aren't you telling me?" Emily asked, trying to keep the demand from her voice.

Hewston took a deep breath and winced in pain. "Dr. Beckett told us not to say too much—that you might be overwhelmed."

"I get the feeling that this is a very overwhelming place," she muttered. She looked over at Hewston who was closing her eyes and Watson, who just returned her stare blankly and gave up asking questions for the moment.

* * *

Rodney felt completely useless. This was worse than the time he was stuck with Cadman's consciousness in his brain. He'd made mistakes then, but at least he'd been able to think. Now all he seemed to be able to do was react. He'd ordered all of the most experienced scientists to work on the problem here, in Emily's lab, because he didn't want to take the risk of moving the device, possibly disturbing it, and creating even more problems. They were taking readings, looking over schematics, conferring, theorizing and looking to him for direction, but he didn't have any to give.

Zelenka and Jackson were still out looking for the missing stone. Jackson said the database mentioned that the stone was kept in a drawer beneath the device, so they'd returned to the lab where the memory device had been found and tossed the room, but it wasn't there. Jackson thought it would be worth the time to explore other labs in the vicinity, so they were still searching.

Rodney was terrified they wouldn't find it.

They had the schematics for the stone. That was something. But to try to machine and otherwise fabricate these kinds of infinitesimally small, delicate, and precision parts? And in three days or less? He shook his head. It seemed hopeless. The smallest mistake could scramble her memories or delete half of them. He didn't want to wind up in the half that was lost. Everyone joked that he was brilliant in the face of death and he guessed it had happened enough times that he could say that it was true, but in the face of losing the person he loved, he was afraid he might be pathetic.

She wasn't entirely gone, he reminded himself. She was still intensely curious, kind, caring. She was still really smart and perceptive. Probably still had a temper. She even seemed a little tougher. But what would it do to her to lose everything she knew forever? To lose her education and years of work? How could she ever be the same again after that?

He had to stop thinking like that. It wasn't helping. He was going to have to straighten up and figure this out. She needed him, depended on him. Everyone was waiting for him to say something profound.

He closed his eyes and focused. He should have them start working on engineering a new stone. They needed to start now, because they weren't going to find the original. He grabbed the nearest person and told her to take a copy of the schematics to the best military machinist on base and bring him in on the team.

He thought about how he'd managed to get himself out of the ascension snafu. There was always a way out. He just had to look from every angle, try on every possibility. What did they know about this device? It looked a lot like the long-range communication device found at Glastonbury. The other device had stones too, but were for a different purpose. Maybe the two devices had properties in common. Maybe the schematics had parts in common. If he could get one of the communication stones from Earth, or better yet—find one here, maybe he could take it apart and get a final product much faster that way.

He pulled a laptop closer. _Dammit._ The person he needed right now was Emily. He typed the word 'communication' into his rudimentary translation software and ran it through the database search mode. He needed to see if there were schematics for the communications stones in the database. Not knowing the Ancient name for the device to use as a search term was a problem. Thousands of files and subdirectories came up. The damn database was so vast, just finding this one file, if it even existed, was going to take too much time. Emily would be able to find it much faster, he was sure. He had to know more before he could make such a presumptive request from the SGC. They wouldn't give up one of the stones without good reason.

"McKay, this is Beckett, come in."

"What?" he said irritably, then came to himself and said, "I mean, this is McKay, go ahead."

"Emily just woke up and I thought you might like to come have dinner with her. I know you're probably busy, but—"

"Of course I'm busy. I'm trying to solve this thing," he said, exasperated.

"Ok, then, I'll just order a tray for her and sit with her myself. No worries."

He looked up from the screen. Did Beckett see this as a second chance at Emily? "No, no, no. I'll come. Just give me a minute to delegate some things and I'll pick up a couple of trays."

"Right. See you soon."

He stood up and four people turned to look at him expectantly. He conveyed his idea and assigned two of them to troll through the database looking for the communication stones. He assigned another one to contact Dr. Lee at the SGC to get any and all reports on the stones. The fourth scientist he told to update Dr. Weir and get her authorization for an unscheduled data burst to Earth to request the information from Dr. Lee. Then he turned on his heel and left the room, grateful to get out of there.

* * *

When he arrived in the infirmary, she smiled at him and his heart skipped a beat. He could almost believe that she was the same, that nothing had happened. She was looking at a paperback book, and set it aside. A nurse came over and helped him set up her tray for her.

"Feeling better after a nap?" he asked, trying to keep things light.

"Yes, the doctor said I slept for most of the day, actually," she replied sheepishly.

"You do that."

"What?"

"Sleep like you're in a coma for really long periods of time."

"Huh. It's really weird not knowing anything about myself." She wasn't touching the food on her tray and she sent him an intense look. "Have you made any progress?"

The question shouldn't have caught him off-guard, but it did. "Yes, we're working on a couple of things," he said, not able to meet her eyes.

"Why is everyone being so vague? What are you keeping from me?" she demanded.

He faltered. How could he tell her she was in an alien city in another galaxy? She couldn't possibly comprehend that.

"What is this place? Where are we?" She sat up, her voice rising, becoming more agitated.

He glanced around the room. The man John had stationed nearby was perking up—he needed to calm her down, keep it simple. "Emily, it's ok. This is a science expedition on a military base."

She looked incredulous. "A military base? Where? From what I could tell it was surrounded by water. Where are we? In the Pacific?"

_Damn._ He hadn't thought through a story to tell. He swallowed, thinking fast, but nothing was coming to mind so he just agreed, "Yeah, that's right."

She sat back. "The architecture is so foreign. I thought it might be Japanese." She seemed to be lost in thought.

He was surprised that she had retained a knowledge of cultures of Earth. He wondered what else she had retained. Maybe best not to probe for that now, though, he thought. Better to distract her. "What were you reading?"

"Oh, that?" she rolled her eyes. "A truly terrible, romance novel. The doctor didn't have anything else around. I'm bored. When are they going to let me out of here? Shouldn't I be helping you figure this out?"

"This isn't really your area of expertise, Emily," he said, shrugging uncomfortably.

"Why hasn't anyone else come to see me? Don't I have friends? Am I a horrible person?"

"No, no, no, no, no. Look, you just transferred here recently. Of course you have friends. Carson is your friend. Ah, everyone else is just busy trying to find a solution to this. I'll send Radek and Daniel to see you soon, ok?"

She looked doubtful, but said, "Ok," quietly and looked away, lost in thought.

He looked down at the untouched food on his tray. He didn't have any appetite anymore, but he knew he should eat and he should encourage her to do the same.

She turned to him suddenly and said, "You can't imagine what this is like. All of you—your minds must be filled with a million different distractions. You have something to do. You have purpose. You are. . . you and I'm just empty. There's nothing filling my mind but questions. I feel so. . . desperate."

He set his tray down nearby and moved to sit on the edge of her bed. She shoved her tray onto the cart at her bedside and clung to him like a lifeboat. She buried her face in his chest and he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, feeling helpless.

* * *

Rodney tapped his fingers on the table in front of him impatiently. "We have to tell her where she is and what's going on," he said vehemently.

He was in a meeting with Elizabeth, John, Carson, Heightmeyer and Jackson. It was the morning of the second day. He'd already seen her this morning. She was asking more pointed questions and getting more and more agitated.

"We can't do that, Rodney," Elizabeth said firmly.

"Why not? She's too smart to keep this up, even for another day! Yesterday she decided she must be on a military base in Japan, but today she's already skeptical about that, Elizabeth!"

Elizabeth frowned. "Think this through, Rodney. If we can't restore her memory, she can't stay here and if she knows about the Stargate, where will she go on Earth? We have to give her the best chance possible to rebuild a normal life, if it comes to that."

He looked at her incredulously. "What are you going to do? Drug her and send her back to the SGC after everything she's done here? That's how you'll reward her?"

Elizabeth sighed. "That's not what I want to happen. You know that. But I'm telling you—worst case scenario—that would be the kindest thing for her."

"And what about me? Hm? What am I supposed to do then?"

"Just fix the damn device and we won't have to worry about that," John exclaimed.

"I wish it were that simple," Rodney said, slumping in his chair. "Look, I know you think I can just pull the answer out of thin air, but it's not happening that way this time! I'm working as fast as I can on this, but it's tedious, delicate work and even with a team of my best people working on it around the clock, I'm not sure I can do it in time."

Elizabeth leaned forward, "Are you sure you're all safe, working in that room with the device? What if someone else activates it, what will happen then?"

"I've got a man guarding the device around the clock. No one's getting that close," John commented.

"Is it even functioning properly? You said it required strong emotions to be triggered. How did that happen?" Elizabeth looked from Rodney to Daniel pointedly.

Daniel shifted in his seat, "I think that might be my fault. I suggested she should take the mandatory day off and she got really angry. Shortly after that, Dr. Neumann said the machine was giving off different readings. I suspect it may only work on people with the Ancient gene, but we have no way of knowing for sure."

Rodney glared at Daniel. This whole thing was Daniel's fault. If he'd never pulled that device out of storage, this wouldn't be happening.

Weir turned to Carson. "Where do we go from here, Carson? Should we put her under sedation until we solve this?"

"I don't think that's wise, except as a last resort. I don't have any reason to keep her in the infirmary either. She's healthy as horse and going mad with boredom. I suggest we give her something for anxiety and confine her to quarters with someone to keep her company at all times."

"And a guard at the door with a stunner. Just as a precaution." John said.

Rodney looked at John incredulously. "Are you kidding me?"

"What? She's proven herself to be pretty resourceful. I don't think we can be too careful right now. She's pretty confused and upset. I would be too in her place."

Elizabeth turned to Heightmeyer, "Kate? What's your professional opinion? Do you have any thoughts you would like to add?"

Kate looked at them frankly, "Elizabeth is right. If her memory cannot be restored, knowing the truth about the Stargate program could be very emotionally damaging to someone as gifted as she is with the way things are on Earth right now. She wouldn't be in a position to work within the program in any capacity and would, quite frankly, be considered a liability. Once that bell is rung, it cannot be undone. For now, we need to cautiously maintain a semblance of normality around her, allowing her to believe in the scenario she already has formed in her mind—sticking as close to the truth as possible, without crossing the line."

Kate raised her eyebrows and continued, firmly, "I suggest we maintain that she is on a top secret military base near Japan—that she has very high security clearance and that is why we're so wary. She's an archeologist that was working on a top secret and very unusual device of unknown origin. We don't need to suggest alien technology is at play here at all. Let her form conclusions on her own. We'll have to be very careful about the kind of individuals that we place in her presence."

Weir straightened and took a breath, looking at each person in the room in turn. "Ok. Let's make a short list of individuals that we can put on four hour rotations around the clock that we can trust to maintain this deception.

"I'll do it," John volunteered. "And I'm sure Teyla would as well."

Carson spoke up, "I have a couple of nurses that would perform well."

"Count me in," Daniel volunteered.

Rodney looked at them all in disbelief. "Are you people crazy? This didn't work with Michael and there's no way it's going to work with Emily either!"

Elizabeth seemed to gather her patience. "This is hardly the same situation, Rodney, and we are taking extra precautions. She's one of our own. We're trying to protect her. We just have to manage this for a very short period of time, not indefinitely. Ok? I think we have a plan. I'll set up a rotation and contact you individually. Dismissed." Elizabeth, and everyone else, gathered their things to go.

Rodney held out a hand to detain her. "Elizabeth—I know her. This isn't going to work. She's too smart for this. She'll figure it out."

"I don't see that we have any other choices, Rodney. I'm sorry."

"You should know that if she goes back to Earth, I'm going with her. I'm the only thing she's sure of and I won't take that away from her."

Elizabeth searched his face and nodded, "Understood."


	28. Chapter 28 examino test

Carson had just finished debriefing her and was escorting her to her living-space. He'd just explained that she was a contractor for the U.S. Air Force, on a top-secret military base hidden in the Sea of Japan between the southern tip of South Korea and Nagasaki. She was an expert, at the top of her field, studying a mysterious and very old device when the accident happened. All the secrecy was because she had very high security clearance—she was a risk to national security, especially since she'd tried to escape.

They were on the verge of solving this thing, Carson said. It would be forty-eight hours more, at the most. Until then, she would be confined to her quarters as a security measure, but they'd arranged for her friends to keep her company while she waited. He was going to stay with her for a few hours while she settled in. The nightmare was almost over.

Carson stopped moving and said, "Here we are. Home sweet home." He indicated a blue light on the wall. "You can wave your hand over it or touch it and the door will open. Only you can open this door, except in an emergency."

She frowned. After her capture, she'd paid close attention to the doors in the infirmary. She'd noted the use of the blue lights by the nurses and other visitors and it had stymied her. She'd never touched those blue lights once, when she was on the run—hadn't even noticed them. What mystified her further was that she had observed that Carson never touched them either. The doors just seemed to open magically for him as they had for her. She eyed him furtively, trying to conceal her distrust. They said he was her friend and he seemed amiable and kind, but something was off, really off, and she couldn't trust anything he said. She reached out a hand tentatively to the light and the door opened for her before she made contact.

Sunshine poured in through stained glass windows, coloring the room with a soft, multi-colored glow. The room was mostly off-white with accents of abstract, dark-colored stonework sculptures that interrupted the clean lines of the walls, effecting a very zen atmosphere. She thought it was an interesting combination of eastern and western design—very modern and totally bizarre for a military base. Was this some kind of VIP treatment?

She wandered through the rooms, trying to get a sense of the place and, hopefully, herself. She found a tiny room that was some kind of micro-kitchen. The appliances looked foreign to her, but she supposed that was to be expected. Carson was following her around, not saying anything, just smiling and watching her expression. She found a bedroom with a large attached bath and opened a closet to see what her clothes looked like. At first she saw only uniforms, but then noticed a few other things like t-shirts, jeans, casual things. Then she noticed that there were men's clothes at the back of the closet.

"Oh," she said and took a step back with surprise.

"What is it, love?" Carson asked anxiously.

"Rodney must live here with me," she said, searching his face.

At first he looked surprised, but then he made a face like he was impressed and said, "Does he now? You two have been on something of a fast track relationship."

"We are?" she asked. Why had she assumed they had been together for a long time? That had been a mistake. She'd better check any and all assumptions at the door, apparently.

She wandered out onto a balcony, enjoying feeling the sun on her face and smelling the salty air. "I think I must be an outdoorsy person," she said.

"What makes you say that?" Carson asked.

"Because I've been craving being outside," she said with a sigh and went back inside to explore further.

Then she made a second discovery that was unsettling. When she gasped, Carson quickly joined her and got a confused and unsettled look on his face, no doubt mirroring her own. There were alarm bells going off inside her brain. "Carson, could I be—?" Her hand went reflexively to her midsection.

"No, love, it would have showed up on a scan or the blood tests we routinely run on all female patients. You're definitely not pregnant." He looked certain, but she felt uneasy. Things were not stacking up right. She couldn't shake the feeling that they were lying to her and that the lies were big. Very big.

"Ok. But why would there be a crib here on a military base? I didn't see any children yesterday. Are there families with children here?"

He hesitated. "No, but we haven't been here long. This may be part of a long-term goal. Perhaps they've just installed these things in advance?"

She stepped into the room further. There was a plastic box on one of the twin beds and she opened it. Inside she found yarn, knitting needles and a partially knit mitten in a very intricate design.

"Oh, that's right—you knit," Carson said enthusiastically. "I'd forgotten about that. Oh, that's lovely, isn't it? My mum knits the most lovely jumpers. We've talked about it before. Do you think you might remember how? Might keep you busy while you wait."

She examined the piece analytically. There were four wooden, double-pointed sticks stuck in loops, several multi-colored threads hanging off of it and a fifth stick stuck through the mitten itself. She didn't have the faintest idea where to pick up where she had apparently left off. She set it back in the box, shaking her head, feeling suddenly forlorn.

"That's all right, then," he said sympathetically. "There are other ways to pass the time."

They settled in the living area and she insisted that he tell her stories of their friendship. He seemed happy to oblige, at first, but his stories kept trailing off or getting oddly truncated.

She looked at him in consternation. "So, you're saying I'm rude, angry, and a drunk? This is what I'm like?" How embarrassing to find out she was some kind of harpy. No wonder she didn't have any friends visiting her.

He looked dismayed. "Oh, no, love—you're a sweet, gentle soul, I swear! I won't have you thinking ill of yourself. No, no. I would say you're passionate and that you may, on occasion, display a wee bit of temper when you see things a certain way. You take your work very seriously."

"That's what Rodney said." She got up again, feeling restless.

After that she meandered through the space, picking up objects and books, studying them, then setting them down. Nothing she touched jogged any kind of memory. It all looked and felt like it belonged to someone else. She couldn't shake the feeling that she didn't belong here. Something wasn't right. She asked Carson a few more questions about herself, but it was clear he didn't know the answers. She hadn't been here long, he said. That was code for, he didn't know her well, she thought.

John came by at lunchtime, bringing a couple of trays of food, and Carson took his leave rather cheerfully. She sensed he was uneasy and glad to escape. She was certain now that these weren't social calls. They were babysitting her—watching her—and they were lying to her. She quickly realized she wasn't going to get much out of John either. She asked him about the base and he parroted back the same story Carson had, even using some of the same phrasing. Other questions got laconic answers.

She forced herself to eat despite rising paranoia and decided to stop taking the pills they were giving her, discretely spitting them out and putting them in her pockets. She had to maintain a calm, non-threatening demeanor so they would let their guard down. Her chances of getting off this base seemed slim to nil but she was going to find out what the hell was going on, come hell or high water. She was going to give Rodney one more chance to come clean when she saw him next and, if he failed to deliver, she was going to execute the plan she'd already started forming.

After lunch, John seemed content to sit reading a book and listening to some music on a small device. She picked up a book too and tried to read, or at least pretend to. After a while, she went into the bedroom on the pretext of using the bathroom. His back was to the bedroom door. She watched him as the door closed and he didn't seem to notice. She went to the bathroom door. How close did she have to be to get the bathroom door to open and close? How was the doctor doing it without touching it, like the others? She waved her hand over the light from various distances experimentally. It seemed to open and shut sometimes before her hand got anywhere near it.

She thought back to the day of the accident. She had a strange thought and even though it sounded crazy, she indulged it. She stood, motionless, and thought about it opening. It did. Her heart pounded. She took a step back and did it again, and again, and again. She sat down on the bed, stunned. What did this mean? She tried moving other objects in the room with her mind, but nothing else budged.

She laughed at herself. It wasn't telekinesis. It had something to do with technology. Japan was the epicenter of technology, wasn't it? They were experimenting on human/technology interfaces here, she thought with fascination. Their experiment on the doctor had been successful—and hers? The experiment on her had an undesired side effect, leading to memory loss.

She whirled around the room, thoughts racing. What else could she do? She collapsed back on the bed and thought about the lights overhead. She could turn them on, off and anywhere in between. It was incredible. She remembered the computer she had accessed the day before. It had come to life, just by being in proximity—and the language on the screen—that hadn't been English, but she had somehow understood it. Could it be some kind of computer language that she now intuitively understood?

But why keep it a secret from her? Why not just tell her the truth? That was the fishy part. What was this about? Was this about keeping the truth from her or was it about keeping the world from finding out what they'd done to her? Perhaps there were investors that had to be pleased. Perhaps it wasn't really a military operation, but a corporate one, with government involvement. How many other people had they experimented on and how could she stop them? There was a pounding on the door and she started guiltily.

"Are you ok in there?" John asked loudly, from the other side.

"Oh, yes, yes, I'm just changing my clothes!" she called out and dashed over to the closet to change out of the infirmary scrubs. She slowed her breathing and returned to the living area. John was getting bored. He was pulling at a loose thread on his boot and tapping his fingers as he stared off into space.

"Wanna play cards?" he asked, pulling a deck of cards out of a shirt pocket.

"Wanna teach me the rules?" she replied, with raised eyebrows.

He nodded exaggeratedly, "Ah, yeah, sure."

They settled on the floor and he taught her the rules for a silly card game called slap jack that she was certain was meant for small children. She wasn't sure what that said about him. He seemed slightly goofy, but she also got the feeling that he was important in the military hierarchy of the base. She recalled how the other men had followed his leadership—and that, she thought, seemed an odd combination.

The game required you to alternately throw down cards and whenever a certain card surfaced, you slapped the pile to claim it. As they played, he took the game seriously, never betrayed more than a slightly amused expression, and got quite competitive. She couldn't help herself, she kept collapsing in giggles. He won nearly every time. She wondered about his motives. He seemed to know she needed to lighten up and laugh and he'd managed to make it happen. She decided she liked him and could see why he was Rodney's friend.

"Do we spend a lot of time together, the three of us?" she asked.

"We eat meals together, with Teyla and Ronon sometimes," he said as he shuffled the deck.

She observed him closely. "What did you mean, yesterday, when you said one time you almost turned into a bug?"

"Oh, that." He wrinkled his brow. "I was just joking. I had a retro-virus. It did weird things to me. I could have died. But they brought me back."

That sounded like a plausible explanation, she thought. But somehow she got the feeling there was more to it than that. He'd said he almost turned into a bug. Why would someone say something strange like that to someone in her befuddled situation?

Shortly after that, John collected his things in preparation to leave. She asked him, before he left, if he would ask Rodney to come visit her that evening and he said he would.

As he was leaving, she noticed there was a guard at the door, even while John had been inside with her.

Her newest warden was a nurse from the infirmary—she recognized her immediately—and since the nurse hadn't noted any sort of relationship with her during her stay in the infirmary, she didn't see any point in asking her any questions about herself. She maintained a blasé attitude, inquired about the base, and got the same pat replies that she had from John and Carson. Then she excused herself on the pretext of taking a shower and the woman sat down to read a magazine she'd brought with her.

Once behind the closed door of the bedroom, she experimented some more with the lights and doors and found she could lock the bathroom door with her thoughts as well. She smiled wickedly at herself in the mirror. Either they didn't know she could do that, or they didn't know she knew she could do that. Either way, it was an advantage.

After showering, she looked at herself critically in the mirror. It seemed odd to look at oneself with the clarity of a stranger's regard. The hair was definitely problematic. She wasn't sure what to do with it. She dug through a makeup case she found, looking for something to liven up her pale face. She was going to try to convince Rodney to tell her the truth and looking pretty couldn't hurt. She wasted as much time in the bathroom as she could. When she emerged, the nurse was still reading, so she flopped down and picked up a book and tried to read too. The book might as well have been upside down. All she could do was think through every conversation she'd had since she woke up, catalog every detail she'd observed in her mind.

After an hour or so, a chime sounded at the door. The nurse answered it, revealing a young Asian man, dressed in military attire, carrying two trays of food.

Tangled thoughts raced through Emily's mind. She felt compelled to ask the soldier a question, but was disturbed by the form it took. She leapt to her feet before he could walk out. "Do you speak Japanese?" she asked him urgently.

He paused and looked confused.

She felt compelled to try again, "Do you speak Mandarin?"

"A little," he replied in a stilted manner, his eyes darting around uneasily.

"Where are we?" she demanded.

"Shénme?" He seemed taken aback.

"Where are we? Where is this place? What is it called? What are we doing here? What kind of work are we doing here?" she prompted desperately.

"Stop!" the nurse said and got between them. She touched her earpiece. "Dr. Weir?"

The man stationed outside the door came in, surveying the situation.

"Dr. Weir, this is First Lieutenant Nancy Wagner. You told me to let you know if I observed any odd behavior from Dr. Freedman. Well, this is pretty odd. Someone just brought up supper and she was speaking to him in another language. Yes ma'am, another language. I don't know." Wagner broke off talking on the headset and turned to the young man—what language were you speaking with her?" she demanded.

"Chinese—I mean, Mandarin. I only speak a little because of my grandpa. Did I do something wrong? What's going on here?" He looked perplexed.

"Mandarin, ma'am," the nurse resumed, speaking into the radio.

Emily turned to the young man and tried to explain, "I'm sorry I involved you. I just thought since we were near Japan. . . . I wasn't sure what I was saying at first."

The man looked even more baffled. As she spoke to him, she noticed there was a patch on the front of his uniform. The patch said Lt. Armand Cole. That wasn't an Asian name, she thought, and took a step back in dismay.

The nurse bellowed, "Stop talking! You—" She pointed at the soldier. "Get out now."

When the door closed behind him, the nurse turned to her. "Well, that was quite a little rodeo. This isn't over, Cowgirl. I know you're very confused and I can't say much to reassure you, but you should know that we all have your best interests at heart. Now, why don't you sit down and tuck into that food before they come up here to talk to you about all this?" With that said, the nurse sat down and followed her own recommendation.

Emily sat down too, but food was the furthest thing from her mind. She had just spoken in another language. Two, actually. And she hadn't known she could do that. Why hadn't anyone told her that? How could she not know? How many languages could she speak? She thought hard, but nothing came to mind. Then she tried concentrating on a country. France. Her next thoughts were in French. Italian was the same. Tears escaped from her eyes. She wasn't empty. There was something still there. Something extraordinary. Something valuable.

* * *

Emily peered through one of the larger clear panes of glass at eye level. From this angle, she couldn't see much of the compound, just a few of the towers on the perimeter of this wedge and the sea itself. The architecture seemed. . . unusual, foreign, but she couldn't say what detail made her think that was so. She wondered who'd built it and why—and why it had to be a secret.

The sky was darkening and it was hard to guess exactly where the sea ended and the sky began. The wind must be blowing, she thought, because the sea was churning and a few drops of rain spattered the glass. A chime sounded at the door and she turned as the nurse rose to answer, conferring in low tones with someone in the hall.

Rodney came in then, sending her worried glances, followed by three other people that she didn't recognize—a slightly built woman and two men. The tiny living room was starting to feel a little claustrophobic, she thought, as she steeled herself for whatever was about to happen next. They were all watching her and looked unsure. She waited to see what they would do.

The woman appeared to be the leader and she gestured at the man next to her, "Go ahead, Radek," she said.

The man stepped forward. He wore glasses and his receding hair stuck out in comical tufts. "Emily, I'm your friend, Radek. I'm sorry I haven't come to see you. I've been working on the solution to your problem." He looked from her to the others uneasily. He objected to this, she thought. Then she realized he was speaking in another language. They were testing her.

She replied in kind, surprised when another language surfaced so effortlessly, "If you are my friend, then please explain to me what's happening here! No one is telling me the truth. I need answers. Please. They clearly don't know what we're saying. Just tell me and I won't reveal anything, I swear."

He glanced at the woman behind him and took another step forward, holding his hands out in a supplicating gesture. "You don't have anything to fear. We will restore your memory soon." He seemed kind, gentle, apologetic. He turned to the woman and said, in English, "Flawless, like before."

The other man stepped forward and led her, gently, to sit down, speaking in yet another language, "I'm Daniel. We've worked together and been friends for years. You understand what I'm saying, don't you?" He seemed sincere and. . . excited, she thought.

"Yes. How many languages do I know? What's happening here?" She felt the tiniest glimmer of familiarity. "Did you teach me this language? What is it?"

He was clearly taken aback. "Yes, I did." He turned to the woman and said, "Yes to Goa Uld. Her language facility is intact. Amazing. It makes sense, really, that the language center of the brain would be untouched—very few people would have the highly developed abilities that she possesses."

The woman looked skeptical. "She can speak them, but can she read them, Dr. Jackson?"

Emily's gaze flicked from the woman to Rodney. He was glaring at this man, Daniel, which gave her pause. She looked at Daniel warily as he set a tablet computer on her lap.

"What does this say?" he asked, indicating some words on the screen.

She read the sentence to him.

He smiled in reply and edged forward in his seat, "Ok, what does that mean in English?"

She looked at him, perplexed. "The fat brown mouse wanted something most excellent for dinner, but his tendencies toward indolence were a constant source of frustration, so he settled for a crumb near the opening of his hole."

His smile deepened and he held her gaze, clearly pleased. "Yes, that's right." He turned to the others expectantly.

"What's the name of this language?" the woman asked.

Emily closed her eyes and tried to see the answer in her mind, but it wasn't there. She seemed to be able to access these two languages, without knowing what they were. She shook her head, hating that she had to admit it. "I don't know, but I was speaking Czech before."

Rodney looked shocked and he turned to the woman to say something, but Emily interrupted him before he could start.

"Forgive me—I may be the only idiot in the room—but I'm fairly certain it's customary to introduce yourself to strangers," Emily grit out angrily at the woman. "Did I pass your little test?"

The woman blinked and said, "I am Dr. Elizabeth Weir, the administrator of this base. Gentlemen, let's confer in the corridor, please."

Rodney looked angry and started to follow her. Emily stopped him, grabbing his arm. "Please tell me you'll come back? Don't leave me with these strangers anymore. I want to talk to you." She looked hopefully into his eyes and she could see longing there. "You live here with me. Please tell me you'll sleep here tonight."

He swallowed and looked unsure. "I don't know if that's a good idea. I have a lot of work to do." He pulled away and followed the others into the hall.

The nurse shut the door behind them and led Emily to sit down. She could hear them arguing faintly through the door, but couldn't make out what they were saying.

After a few minutes, Rodney came back and she crossed to him, looking at him hopefully. "What happens now?"

"She agreed to let me tell you more," he said intensely. "But I can't stay now—I have to work a few more hours at least. The device is close to being finished."

She felt flooded with relief and smiled at him tremulously. "Really? That's good." She spontaneously planted a kiss on his cheek.

He looked disconcerted and said, "Ok, ok. I'll be back in a few hours. We'll talk about it then."


	29. Chapter 29 veritas truth

Emily sat down and tried to pass the time. After a while, she decided to eat the cold food on the tray because she was hungry, despite a lack of appetite. Hour after hour passed and she found herself prowling the small confines of the quarters, pawing through the meager amounts of belongings she possessed for more clues about herself.

It grew dark outside and the stained glass ceased to glow. The nurse, Nancy, picked up her things expectantly and Daniel arrived to keep her company.

He smiled at her hesitantly. "Would you satisfy my curiosity?" he said, "I'd like to see if you retain any other languages?" He asked her questions in several more languages and seemed thrilled that she could answer him in all of them. "Well, that's all I know. You know many more than I do, so I can't test them all."

"I'm an archeologist," she said. "It makes sense that I would have knowledge of other languages, but—"

"You were a linguist, long before you were an archeologist. You started learning languages as a small child. You have a gift for language, unlike anyone I've ever known."

Conversing with Daniel was satisfying. He told her about a military base in Colorado where they'd worked together for years. His stories were ripe with concrete details and personas and didn't have the vague, stunted quality that Carson and John's stories had. She found herself relaxing, enthralled by him. He was kind, sympathetic, genuine and she felt she could trust him—except for that nagging detail she remembered—Rodney had been glaring at him.

He told her what he knew of her family and childhood. He happily gave her a complete description of her personality, confirming the clues she'd been collecting about herself over the last two days. She was serious, but also prone to lighthearted banter, infectious enthusiasm, smiles, giggles and a terrible stubborn streak that led to infrequent temper flares. He made her feel more secure, more real than she had felt thus far. Then they talked about Rodney and he affirmed what she had guessed, that their relationship had been brief, but intense.

"Why didn't you come to see me sooner?" she sighed. "Rodney isn't very talkative and you've made me feel so much more at peace with this predicament."

"I couldn't," he said with chagrin. "I was looking for the missing piece of the device that will restore your memory. I spent all day yesterday looking for it and today I've been working with the scientists who are rebuilding that missing piece, helping with any translations they needed for the schematics, materials lists, and other details they need to know."

"There's a piece missing? I was under the impression that Rodney was just repairing it."

He looked at her frankly. "He's under immense pressure, so you'll have to forgive him. He's rebuilding the missing piece from components of similar technologies we've found. There's no one else here with his kind of expertise. He's brilliant. He can do it, Em. Don't worry. They're finishing up the assembly tonight—he and Radek—the other man who was here earlier, speaking to you in Czech. That's where they are now. They plan to run tests on it first thing in the morning. I'm sorry, Em, but everyone who is closest to you has been incredibly busy trying to fix this."

She nodded, finally understanding that it wasn't that she didn't have friends—it was that her friends happened to be the dedicated experts working to help her.

Daniel was compassionate about her situation, acted as though he had an idea of what she was feeling, and she felt compelled to give voice to her biggest fear, "What if it doesn't work?"

"He'll make it work. He's incredibly determined to get you back," he said, sounding certain.

"But if it doesn't—if something goes wrong and I'm stuck this way, what will happen to me then?"

He squeezed her knee reassuringly. "You'll always have a job with me in Colorado, no matter what they decide here. Your language skills alone will put you on the payroll, even if you've lost your degree. You'd be able to rebuild a life there—a good life. You were happy there and had friends who would love to see you again."

That sounded appealing, but there were other things to consider. "But Rodney. . . that would surely hurt him."

Daniel shrugged and seemed to consider that. "If this thing does go badly—and I don't think it will—but if it does, there's going to be collateral damage for both of you. I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to stay here with him. You feel an attraction to him even now, I suspect?" He was watching her closely. Why did everyone watch her so closely?

"Well, things are pretty jumbled," she said, searching her feelings for the most honest answer to that question. "I'm just trying to make sense of reality, period. But he. . . I don't know. . . I think you could be right."

Daniel got quiet then. It was late. She knew he must be tired. She had no intention of sleeping any time soon, however. Hours had gone by and she wondered if Rodney was still going to come back. She got up and stood at the window again. It was cloudy and raining lightly. There were no stars visible. The partial moon was large and bright. It laced the rushing clouds with light.

Daniel came to stand next to her and looked out too. "I have a confession to make," he said softly.

"What?"

He continued to look out the window. "It's my fault this happened." He glanced at her, "I'm sorry. I feel terrible. I wish it'd been me."

"I don't understand."

"We were working on another project together. You were late that morning and I was looking for something else to do so I took that device out of storage to examine. I hadn't had a chance to really look at it yet or do any research on it when the accident happened. If I'd done more research first, if I'd left it locked up, if I'd been able to pull you away in time. . . ."

"It's ok, Daniel. " She reached out to touch his arm. "It was an accident. There was no malicious intent. I'm alive. I'll be ok."

"Oh, of course," bellowed a voice from behind her.

She turned to see Rodney standing in the open door glaring at them.

Daniel gathered a couple of things and said, "I'll see you in the morning, Em," and started for the door. He nodded at Rodney and said, "Dr. McKay."

"Dr. Jackson," Rodney said curtly and shut the door behind Daniel. He turned to her, saying icily, "You do realize he's the reason you're in this mess, don't you?"

She approached him cautiously. "He was just explaining that to me. He's sorry. Why are you so angry?"

"Isn't it obvious?" he stormed. "He's taking advantage of the situation. You're a blank slate. He thinks he has a second chance with you now—he's trying to get you back."

"He is? He and I used to be together?" She hadn't gotten any kind of sense of that from Daniel.

"In a manner of speaking, yes. But it didn't work out, obviously," he said, softening as she drew closer. He looked surprised. "What? You don't disagree?"

"How should I know what his motives are?" Something compelled her to wrap her arms around him and hug him warmly. He seemed to need one. She needed it too.

He patted her abstractedly, stiffly returning the hug. "You usually get mad when I say things like that. You argue."

"I hardly have the frame of reference to make any kind of argument with you about just about anything," she said and smiled at him. They were so close. He was looking at her so intensely, his eyes scanning her face. She wondered what it would be like to kiss him and leaned in a little bit, intending on satisfying her curiosity.

He pulled back and broke contact with her, cursing. "Why would you do that?" he threw at her, looking pained. "Look, don't start what you can't finish. I know I don't mean anything to you right now." He stomped into the bedroom and pulled a bag out of a drawer.

"What are you doing? I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. I was being selfish."

"Were you kissing him too, before I came in?" he accused, tossing a few things in the bag and crossing to the bathroom.

"No! Surely you must know that isn't in my personality."

"What could I possibly know about your personality, Emily? I couldn't possibly know what's left and what's gone."

She grabbed him and pulled with all her strength. He stilled, but wouldn't look at her.

"You're going to listen to me, Rodney McKay. I've been waiting for you all day and you're not leaving yet. Everyone's been telling me what I'm like all day so I think I can pretty accurately tell you that I'm still me. I have no desire to hurt you. None. I'm sorry. I made a mistake," she said urgently, then continued softly, "I was just. . . curious. I won't touch you again, if that's what you want. But you have to stay and tell me the things you promised. You have to."

"It's just. . . you're so much like her." He was slumping with fatigue.

"I am her." She reached out to touch him, realized what she was doing, and flinched, pulling back. She sat down on the edge of the bed, watching him. "I'm sorry for what you're going through. Daniel told me what you've been doing, trying to recreate some part of the machine that took my memory. He told me to cut you some slack because of the pressure you're putting on yourself. I. . . I want you to know that if you can't make the device work, I won't blame you. I know this isn't your fault and you shouldn't be punished. If that happens. . . and you still want. . . to try this—I'm willing to do that."

He sat down next to her, his face a mask of worry and pain. "I'm not going to lie to you, Emily. It might not work. One minuscule detail could be wrong that could ruin everything. We'll run tests on it in the morning." He buried his face in his hands.

She tentatively laid a hand on his back, afraid to touch him, but wanting to reassure him. He seemed so insecure, so worried and hurt. He didn't pull away, so she let her arm rest there.

"It sounds like your day was difficult—shall I tell you about mine?" she asked, nudging him playfully in the side. "You might get a laugh or two out of my demented imagination?"

He took a deep breath and seemed to collect himself. "Sure."

"I know there's more to this story that no one wants to tell me. I've been trying to fill in the blanks myself. But. . . none of it makes sense. I can't seem to form a cohesive conclusion that explains everything. To begin with, this morning I thought I might be pregnant when I saw that crib in the other room—"

He looked alarmed and grabbed her arm. "You're not, right?"

"No. Carson says no."

He looked relieved and she wondered what that meant, but it didn't seem important now.

"Carson told me some stories that were highly edited and was much happier when I stopped asking questions. He doesn't do dishonesty very well, does he? He was glad to get out of here."

Rodney didn't look surprised.

She frowned, thinking. "John came next. He taught me a card game that made me laugh. I like him. He seems like a fun guy. While he was here, though, I discovered something disturbing. Did you know I can do this?" She flashed the lights and shut the bedroom door.

He was nonplussed. "Yes. . . but how did you—"

"Is it related to the memory device?"

"No."

She shook her head incredulously. "I guess I can add 'observant' to my list of personal traits."

He frowned. "Obviously."

"I thought at first that Carson had. . . that he and I were part of some kind of experiment. He can do it too."

"He told you that?"

"No. I noticed."

"Mm."

"So. . . tell me the truth, Rodney. Is this an experiment—one that is trying to interface humans with technology?" She studied his expression carefully.

"No. But, ah, that was a creative deduction."

"You mean desperate."

"What else happened today?"

"I hatched a brilliant escape plan." She flopped back on the bed so she wouldn't see his reaction to that. "What else? I realized I speak at least a dozen languages, probably more. Daniel told me stories that gave me a more concrete picture of myself—that was reassuring. He told me I'm madly in love with you." She swallowed and didn't look at him. It felt too weird.

She laughed to break the tension, which felt palpable to her, at least. "Oh, and at one point, I was looking at the moon tonight and for some reason it seemed different from what I thought the moon should look like, and I actually had a thought that I might be on another planet. Isn't that insane?" She chuckled with disbelief that she'd actually admitted that out loud.

"And, finally—I tried to kiss you and pissed you off. That was my day. I'm sorry I doubted you. I. . . when I saw the charm yesterday, I swore to myself that I would trust you implicitly—why would I be wearing a picture of someone I didn't trust? I've tried to remember that all day—but you have to admit this is really messed up, right?" She sat up and smiled at him as appealingly as she could manage. "Please tell me you're going to explain everything to me now. Because if not, I just blew it by telling you I have an escape plan."

He smiled an achingly tender smile. "You are still in there, aren't you? I don't even know where to start to respond to that litany."

She looked him in the eyes, "Just start with the truth, Rodney. I'm telling you, I'll believe you if you tell me I'm descended from aliens or something. I just want to know the truth."

He looked shocked and grabbed her arm, "Are you remembering things?"

"What? Ow. No, I don't remember anything. What would make you ask that all of a sudden?"

He stood up and started pacing, his right hand working, fingers rubbing in a peculiar way. "There could be some small details there—remnants, left behind. Maybe your conscious mind can't process them. Maybe your subconscious mind is trying to bring them to the surface through your imagination or, or dreams or something. I always get my best ideas when I'm shaving or. . . ." He paused, glancing at her thoughtfully, then resumed pacing. "The device taps into certain areas of the brain. . . but there are always going to be memories that are going to be misfiled. We're organic after all. Your language facility is intact and that might have something to do with your knowledge of Earth and its geography—maybe they weren't filed in their normal places, so you were able to keep that." He looked at her like he was fascinated and said, "Huh."

"Rodney, I understand what you're saying, but you've lost me."

He sat down next to her again, grabbing her hands and looking at her earnestly. "You've guessed two things right, but I'm pretty sure you won't be able to tell which two they are."

She shook her head, "I don't understand."

"What did you dream about last night?" he asked avidly.

Her eyes darted nervously over his face. She was sure she was turning pink and that felt like an irritating betrayal. "I dreamt of you," she said softly.

"Oh," he said, looking disconcerted. "Anything else?"

She took a deep breath and thought about it. "I don't know. I think. . . when I was waking up. . . maybe there was a bit about outer space. I seemed to be sort of zooming around planets and stars or something. It was bizarre. I didn't give it a thought until now."

"You see, I knew it!" he said triumphantly.

She laughed at his expression. He looked so proud of himself, just like the tiny portrait still hanging around her neck. "Come on now, what are you going on about?" she asked, giggling.

He grew more serious and gripped her hands, fixing her with an intense stare. "Traveling through space, descended from aliens, living on another planet. Does that really sound incredibly far-fetched, or are these just other plausible scenarios, perhaps among many, that you've considered?"

She felt a funny, nervous feeling growing in her stomach. "What are you saying?"

"Humor me. What's the first word you think of when I say the word, Atlantis?"

"Mystery?"

"But do you know the story of Atlantis, the mythology?" he asked eagerly.

She looked down, thinking. "No."

"You see, that's just fascinating," he commented, lost in thought.

"Rodney, quit poking around in my brain and tell me what's going on."

"Hm. Well, Elizabeth said you couldn't handle it, but I think she's wrong. You've already got it all figured out—you just don't know it. God, you are so amazing." He reached out and touched her cheek, a look of utter adoration on his face.

She covered his hand with her own. "Please. You have to say more that that, Rodney. I don't understand."

"Of course, of course. Well, how do you like your band-aids removed? The quick rip or the slow tear?"

"I think you've already tried the slow tear and I'm not getting it. It's time for the big rip."

"Ok," he watched her cautiously, "Humans were not the first race to inhabit Earth. There was another group of people, people we call the Ancients, who made it their home millions of years ago. They were scientists and explorers and they seeded human life on planets throughout several galaxies. One of those galaxies was called Pegasus, by astronomers on Earth, and that is where we are right now. On a planet, in the Pegasus galaxy, in a city called Atlantis that was originally built and inhabited by the Ancients. We're on a science expedition, to explore this galaxy and the technology found in this abandoned city." He paused for moment, scanning her for any reaction. "Should I go on?"

She swallowed, squeezing his hand for support, and choked out a bewildered, "Yes."

"You, in particular, are vital here because you're one of two of the foremost experts on the Ancient language—that was the language you were reading earlier—the, ah, the thing about the fat mouse? You and Daniel are the people to go to if you have a question about a translation. Are you ok?"

Her mouth was dry and she thought she felt a bit nauseous. "Is there any more?" she asked with some trepidation.

"Well, yes. Ten-thousand years ago there was a terrible war and the Ancients, well, they lost the war. They escaped to Earth and lived out their lives among the human population there. One of your distant ancestors was an Ancient. You have one of their genes that allows you to use their technology much more easily than the rest of us—with your thoughts. That's how you're able to access the lights and doors. . . and how the device was able to take your memory."

"So. . . traveling through space, descended from aliens, living on another planet?" she asked hesitantly. Her brain felt numb and unresponsive. Was he teasing her? In the time they'd spent together, he'd rarely smiled, much less cracked a joke. He was incredibly serious and worried most of the time. He wasn't kidding, she realized as she looked at him.

He was beaming at her. "Yes. Isn't it amazing that you already had it all figured out?"

She collapsed back on the bed and closed her eyes, musing out loud, "I'm going to wake up tomorrow in a padded room and they're going to inject me with something and I won't remember any of this."

"Wait—what?" He looked alarmed.

"Don't get me wrong. I'm going to miss it. It's amazing and I wish it were real because then I'd be someone truly extraordinary instead of just another mental patient. I'm going to be sorry I never got to sleep with you before the next delusion starts, though," she said bitterly, smiling to herself.

"Emily?" He crouched over her, looking worried.

She stared at the ceiling, pondering her mental state, sparing him occasional glances. "My brain must be really incredible to come up with all this. I mean, really, I should be writing science fiction, not wasting away in some ward somewhere."

His eyes flared. "Damn it! Maybe I should call someone." He seemed to think about doing that, but turned back to her, "Emily, come on now, you wanted the truth. Should I have broken it up into smaller pieces?" He was hovering over her, watching her again in that way he had that exuded longing and worry and desperation. Why did he have to be so damn sexy?

Her eyes snapped open with decision. "Screw it! It's my delusion," she said and launched herself at him, knocking him back onto the bed and pinning him down. His eyes were wide with shock as she placed her lips on his, moving them slowly, savoring every moment. But he wasn't responding. That wasn't fair. What kind of delusion was this? She felt his hands grabbing her arms. He was about to shove her aside. She frowned and tried again, flicking the tip of her tongue experimentally against his lips. He growled and kissed her back, shocking her with the force of his passion. She reveled in the hungry play between their lips. She pressed her hips against him suggestively and he groaned. She kissed his stubbled neck, his earlobe and slipped a hand into the front of his jacket.

"Stop. Emily. You have to stop," he said weakly, his voice hoarse with emotion.

"Why should I?" she asked, between kisses. "This is insane. Even if this is real, we live together—we clearly do this. Don't stop me now. It's just getting good." She slipped her hand lower, grazing the top of his belt buckle.

He flinched, his grip on her arms tightened, and he gently, but firmly pushed her away. Disentangled from her, he staggered to his feet and faced her warily. "We can't do this. Not when you're like this. I won't. It's not. . . right." He closed his eyes and seemed to try to still his ragged breathing.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "So you're seriously going to leave me like this? All worked up?" she accused.

"I'm all worked up, too!" he shot back angrily.

"So do something about it!" she spat at him, hotly.

"No! What's gotten into you?"

He looked mystified, hurt, and she felt a hefty pang of remorse. He had already warned her not to do this an hour before and she had ignored that, selfishly.

"I'm completely screwed! I'm either living in another galaxy with my memory wiped clean or I'm in a padded cell somewhere dreaming this up because I have nothing better to do. Either way, what difference does it make if we have a little fun? I know you want me. It's written all over your face every time you look at me."

He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you the right way. How could I know how to tell you something like this? I should have just gone back to my quarters and left you alone."

She crossed to him, imploring him to understand, "I know you're trying. I can see that you're trying to help me. But, I'm surrounded by strangers telling me who and what I am. I don't know what's real! You tell me this crazy story and you don't think I'm going to lose it? I'm sorry. Please, just understand that I just want to feel something real and forget about this nightmare I've been living for two days."

He held her at arms length, cautiously. "Emily, you're not crazy. Just give yourself some time to think. Tomorrow, while I'm working on the device, I'll have someone show you the city. Now that you know the truth, Elizabeth can't have any objection to you leaving your quarters. I'll finish the device tomorrow and this will be over, ok?"

She realized he looked exhausted and felt guilt pricking at her. It must be very late by now and he surely needed to be rested to do the kind of work he would need to do in the morning. She took a step back from him and turned to the bed, grabbing a folded blanket and pillow. "I won't bother you anymore," she said softly. "You should get some rest so you can be at your best tomorrow."

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked tiredly.

"Out there," she gestured at the living room. "I'm probably not going to sleep anyway and this bed is more yours than it is mine."

"I'll just go back to my quarters."

"And have another stranger come and sit with me, like a child? No, thank you. Just go to bed. It's fine."

"Emily—"

"I'm going to have to insist. You know I'm stubborn, so just give up." She turned on her heel and left the room, closing the door between them. She sank onto one of the chairs and hugged the pillow close, hot tears streaming down her face, holding in any sounds of anguish that might bring him out to check on her.

After a time, she couldn't cry anymore. She wiped her face with the blanket and rose to look out the window again. The rain had ceased and the clouds had blown away. The clear sky revealed a very large partial moon with a slightly rosy glow. It just didn't look right to her, she had to admit to herself, but even though she racked her brain for minutes on end, she couldn't pinpoint the detail that was wrong.

Once again, she prowled through the rooms, quietly, so she wouldn't disturb him, trying to find clues to prove or disprove what he'd told her. But there was so little to go on. The kitchen was empty except for a couple of glasses. She tried the tap and water came out. She ran her fingers over the controls of the cooking appliance and noticed for the first time that there were symbols there—in the language Daniel had her reading earlier. The letters looked so much like artwork, she hadn't noticed before.

A thought occurred to her and she went back into the living room, peering at the stonework that was encrusting sections of the walls. Yes, there were words embedded randomly into the stone among the decorative marks. Words like: peace, serenity, calm, light. It was lovely, she thought. It would be a pretty elaborate hoax to arrange these things to try to convince her and what could possibly be the purpose? She had only discovered her language ability by accident. They hadn't forced it—they had been as surprised and pleased as she was. This wasn't much to go on, she realized, but it was all she could find, for now.

The scenario Rodney had laid out for her, though it sounded bizarre, was the only one that explained each and every one of the details she had been cataloging since she awoke two days before. It seemed too fantastic to believe, but part of her really wanted to because it meant her world was bigger than she could have imagined mere hours before and it gave the accident that took her memory some kind of meaning. Instead of an act of callous experimentation, it would have been a mistake born of a desire to shed light on the mysteries of the universe. Instead of a victim in this story, she could be a hapless participant, goaded by the pursuit of knowledge and that sounded so much better.

She tried curling up on one of the love seats, but she couldn't calm her racing thoughts. She got up and snuck into the bedroom to use the bathroom. When she came out, she couldn't resist approaching the bed to look at him sleeping. He was lying on his stomach, looking more peaceful than she had seen him look before. She wished she knew more about him. Daniel said he was brilliant. She knew him to be kind, honorable, and. . . passionate. Impulsively, she went and grabbed her pillow and slowly eased into the bed, leaving plenty of space between them. She wasn't going to try anything—it just made her feel better to be near him. She watched him sleep, unmoving, for long minutes before her eyes started to close and she slipped into sleep.

* * *

She woke with her heart pounding, her limbs taut, braced to fight and run. But it was dark and there was also something warm and comforting that gave her pause. She struggled to remember what was happening before she moved. Slowly she recalled where she was and what she had done. It was Rodney, she realized, her stomach going queasy as she tried to still her breathing and make her heart stop pounding. He had embraced her in his sleep, scooping her back to his front, his face buried in her hair. Would he be angry if he woke up enough to realize? It was too late to worry about that now, she decided, and slowly relaxed and sank back into him, drowsily enjoying his warm embrace before drifting back off to sleep.

* * *

She awoke again, a few hours later, to the screeching sound of an alarm clock. She moved ineffectually in protest, trying to block out the loud, persistent sound. She opened her eyes to find Rodney standing over her, watching her. The events of the night before came flooding back and she scrambled out of the bed as he shut off the alarm.

"Sorry," she said and went into the other room, hoping to avoid his recriminations.

He followed on her heels, dressed only in a t-shirt and boxers. He watched her mutely for a minute and looked nervous, then said in an affected, off-hand manner, "You're still fully dressed. So we didn't. . . um, you know?"

She looked at him quizzically, "What are you talking about?"

He ducked his head and turned. "Oh, wow, that was a really vivid dream then, sorry." He seemed to internalize that and started back into the bedroom.

"You aren't mad then?"

He turned back to her, his right hand working, thumb and fingers rubbing in a gesture she was beginning to recognize. "No, no. When I woke up and found you there, it was actually, oddly. . . comforting." He took a step closer and asked, "How are you feeling about things, now?"

She sighed. She was starting to suspect she wasn't crazy. That maybe all of this was real. "I'm coming to terms with it. I'd like to see more proof. I hope you really will let me leave this room today."

He nodded and turned, looking so forlorn.

She was filled with remorse for making such a scene the night before. "I'm sorry about last night. Call it temporary insanity. I won't accost you like that again."

He stopped. "Hopefully, after today, none of this will even be an issue," he said over his shoulder and went into the bathroom.

While he was busy in the bath, she changed her rumpled clothes, put her hair up, and licked a finger to wipe off the mascara smudges forming under her eyes from the make-up she'd applied the day before. It was the best she could do without access to the bathroom and she was quite sure Rodney didn't want her company in there just then.

She sat down, closed her gritty eyes against the morning glow of the room, and waited to see what would happen next.

He came out of the bedroom, putting on a watch. He assumed a business-like attitude and said, "So, I'll have someone bring up a breakfast tray and keep you company in a few minutes. I'll contact you when the device is ready."

"No," she said firmly.

He sighed heavily. "No? What does that mean?"

She stood up and crossed the room. "I'm going with you."

He looked impatient. "Emily, I've got work to do. I don't have time to argue with you."

He couldn't wait to get that device working, she thought, so he could banish this pathetic facsimile of his Emily and bring back the one he really wanted. She pushed that painful thought aside and concentrated on her goals. "I'll stay out of your way. I want to see this device for myself—read the information about it for myself. You can't expect me to believe all of this without seeing some of it. Maybe in some small way I can help. Please. You owe it to me, Rodney. You promised."

He looked from her to the door and back again. "There's a guard outside the door, Emily. They aren't going to let you go anywhere without authorization."

"Then I suggest you call whoever's in charge and tell them you're escorting me yourself today or have him come along." She moved to stand between him and the door. "You trusted me enough to tell me the truth—now you need to prove that my trust in you isn't misplaced. If you don't, I may be forced to do something desperate in order to get out of this room. I have to know more. I can't stay here anymore."

"You're serious," he said, incredulously.

"I told you last night. I have a plan," she replied, flatly. "It's a good one too. There's no way you can anticipate what I'm going to do," she bluffed, hoping she was a good liar.

"Fine," he barked, then stabbed at his earpiece. "Sheppard, come in."


	30. Chapter 30 adhæsit stuck

It was strange watching Rodney recount her discovery of the truth to these two men that she knew but didn't know, Daniel and John, over breakfast. She sensed they knew Rodney was exaggerating, but. . . the truth of it, they didn't deny. To them, it was real. To her. . . nothing felt real. She was trapped in some otherworld, something between worlds, where everything was just beyond reach. She had a lover, but he wasn't hers, not really. She had friends she didn't actually know. She had a career that she could never employ. . . unless she was fixed. Nothing made sense and everything was foreign. What if this third day stretched into four, five, more? What if she was stuck here? A purgatory within her own living, breathing self?

Daniel watched her as she sipped her coffee, as much as he dared with Rodney's glares pointed at him. He seemed so sympathetic. In this bizarre world, had he endured something like this? She sensed a kinship in him that went beyond friendship or occupation. But it was too much to talk about. Too raw. She had to hold on to hope.

As breakfast wrapped up, Daniel offered to show her something in the city that he said would help her understand the Ancients. So, with a guard tagging along, he escorted her to a room which fulfilled the sole purpose of teaching about the Ancients through a holographic image of one of them.

The recording was an overview of the history of the Ancients that Rodney had briefly explained. Daniel smiled at the child-like wonder and delight she expressed. She begged him to show her more and they stayed for another hour as he asked the hologram pointed questions about the Ancients. The female hologram, in turn, answered them, with expansive holographic images. Finally, he asked the hologram to show them images of all of the Ancients who had escaped to Earth ten-thousand years before.

Daniel smiled and said, "Em—one of these people was your ancestor. We have no way of knowing which one for sure, but it must be interesting to look into their faces and wonder, isn't it?"

"It's incredible," she breathed. "It's all true then. Everything Rodney said. It's astounding. This find must have changed the world."

"The world doesn't know, Em. This is top secret."

"But how could something this important go untold? The knowledge of these people, the contribution to humanity. Why keep it from them?"

"It's complicated. And I don't think you're really ready to hear absolutely everything right now. How did it really go when Rodney told you the truth?"

"Not as well as he implied," she said softly.

He pressed his lips together, nodding as though he had guessed as much. "You've been through enough. This is likely to be a temporary state, ending today. Let's go back to the lab and see how things are going there."

They weren't going well, judging by the cursing and the thin tuft of white smoke hanging in the air as she and Daniel entered the room. Rodney didn't acknowledge that they'd arrived. He was grabbing a small object bulging with wires and electronics, taking it to a workbench, and muttering and cursing at the man named Radek that she had met the evening before.

Daniel shepherded her over to another corner of the room where he had a laptop and stacks of papers and books. There was a console nearby and she went over to it, filled with curiosity. It was similar to the console she had used on the first day, when she had run. She ran her fingers over the keys and the display lit up on the wall.

"This is a computer terminal," she said to Daniel. "An Ancient one. I used one on the first day."

"Yes," he said, looking a little surprised. "You can use it, if you like, or this laptop which is linked with the database."

"How would I search for information about the device from here?"

"Well, you need the proper name of the device to do that."

"Which is?" she asked.

He looked reluctant to answer, but finally said, "It's called the carcaerum device."

"Carcaerum? But that means—" She felt a small frisson of fear go up her spine.

"Prison. Yes. You ok? Are you sure you want to do this?"

It meant more than that, she thought. It also connoted punishment and no way of escape. She looked back at the console and forced herself to contain her dismay. She had come away from the hologram feeling like the Ancients were a peaceful people full of goodness and light and now. . . she wasn't so sure.

She touched a few of the crystal keys and started navigating the database intuitively. She sensed Daniel had come to stand next to her, to offer his support, but she didn't spare him a glance. She pulled up the file on the device, braced herself, and started reading the introduction.

The Ancients were apparently an ingenious, yet stoic people. The cleverness of the design of the device wasn't lost on her. The Ancients had very little problem with crime, yet did have to deal with occasional crimes of passion. Their solution afforded them the opportunity to avoid distasteful confrontations with the accused and to deal with them in a speedy and tidy fashion.

But Emily felt only repugnance as she delved deeper into the history and development of the technology. This form of punishment might be cheaper and easier to employ than the forms of punishment enacted on Earth, but to strip someone's life completely away without providing the opportunity for reform or allowing for remorse seemed harsh and inhumane to her.

They were quantifying actions—making black and white decisions in a world of grey. They only saw its potential as an effective deterrent. She could understand using the device as a last resort with someone as deranged as a psychopath, but to use it for theft seemed outrageous. The other victims—the families and friends of the criminals—they were punished too. But the Ancients weren't there to defend themselves and no matter how she felt about the device, her only recourse now was to try to understand it.

She looked up from the display when she heard Rodney yelling, "Dammit! The tertiary capacitor is blown!"

Radek was trying to calm him down, "Rodney, that's good—it's one of the parts we can easily replace."

"No. It's not good. It's bad—because we don't know why it's blown and we could sit here and replace these all day, but it won't get us any closer to a finished working product if we can't figure out what's wrong with it!"

"It's still early, Rodney, we have plenty of time to figure it out. Let's run some more simulations."

"We've barely got twenty-four hours. That's not plenty, dammit." He turned to grab a tool and made eye contact with Emily for the first time since breakfast.

She was frozen in place, gaping at him. She realized that he had just now grasped that she was in the room.

"Did you just say twenty-four hours? What? Why?"

He wasn't meeting her gaze. She looked at Daniel and Radek and neither of them was looking too comfortable either.

"Tell me. Tell me, now!" she demanded.

Daniel held up a hand. "That's how long is left before your memories start to degrade within the unit. It wasn't meant for long-term storage. There was a separate storage unit, called a stone, and that's what Rodney and Radek are working on."

She blasted each of them in turn with a look of stormy outrage. "I deserved to know this. I deserved to know all of it—the second you knew. How dare you keep all this from me! What else are you keeping from me?" She crossed to Rodney, shouting at him, "What else is there?"

"That was the last thing, I swear," Rodney said, looking abashed.

She whirled angrily. "So, what? These Ancients took this storage device with them as a souvenir of their most favorite psychopath? Why would they do that? This stone must be here somewhere!" She was trembling with emotion, trying desperately to stay calm and think rationally.

"If it is, it's lost in the vastness of the city. We've looked everywhere for it," Daniel said.

"He's right. We did," Radek said. "This is our best chance of retrieving your memories. We just need to work on it a little more and it will be ready. Don't worry."

Radek looked sure but Rodney didn't. He wouldn't meet her eyes. She grabbed his hand, softening at the pain in his expression. "I have faith in you. You're doing your best, I know. I'll be ok, either way. It'll be ok."

He didn't reply and she turned back to the Ancient console because there was nothing else to do. She began to read the medical section of the document. It contained descriptions of research trials and testimonials of volunteers who temporarily underwent the procedure. In every case, the memories of those individuals were completely restored and they suffered no ill effects. This section seemed to be abridged, which she thought was strange since the other sections were so verbose. There was very little information about what the experience of re-transference of the memories was like.

Emily read about the inventor, the development of the technology, and her various other inventions. She'd been a doctor, a neurologist. Under the history of the device, she found that it had been in use for millennia on many worlds the Ancients occupied. She studied the schematics, though they really meant nothing to her, but skipped the section that listed people over the millennia that were forced to use the device—their names, occupations and crimes.

She ate lunch and dinner with Daniel alone, except for the guard. She wanted to eat with Rodney, but Daniel said Rodney might be better left alone for now. She reluctantly concluded he might be right, and brought sandwiches and other things back for him and Radek. After dinner she walked over to examine the device. The guard blocked her, wouldn't let her get close, much less touch it.

She surreptitiously observed Rodney and Radek working on the stone during the evening while she studied some printouts of small details from the schematics. They had taken this thing they called a stone, which was meant for another device, and sliced it open along its equator. They'd removed certain components and added others to replicate the one missing from the carcaerum device. As a result, it had the appearance of an electronic sandwich with components bulging out from the sides.

Periodically, they made adjustments, changed parts, ran simulations, then tried putting it into the recessed area on the device, whereupon it did not perform the way they wanted it to. Sometimes a capacitor blew and it would smoke, other times it did nothing at all and they stood there, stymied, taking readings. It seemed to be making Rodney go a bit mad and as the hours went by his frustration level rose. He grew more vocal with his curses and more abusive toward poor Radek, who was only trying to help.

Late in the evening, Daniel suggested, hesitantly, that she should get some sleep. She resisted until she heard Radek berating Rodney that he was making mistakes and needed to take a break.

She went to him and said, "Let's go take a nap. A few hours of sleep might help you come back to this with a different perspective. Let Radek bring in someone else with some fresh eyes for a few hours."

He was reluctant, at first, but Radek called in another team member and shooed him away. He was clearly exhausted and they walked silently back to their quarters together with the guard a few paces behind.

Once there, he didn't say a word, just set an alarm and stripped down to his t-shirt and boxers and climbed into bed. She watched him, suddenly realizing she was unsure of what he expected. She found a frumpy, modest nightgown and changed in the bath. Then she hesitantly laid down and turned off the light. When the light went out, she heard him moving and he pulled her close. It was sweet and comforting but she knew he needed it more than she did. He was terrified and already mourning his failure before that failure was even certain. A few tears snuck out at that thought and she furtively wiped them away, not wanting him to think that she didn't believe he could do it.

She laid there, thinking, and it wasn't long before she felt his grip on her relax and his breathing go deeper and softer. She found herself drifting in and out of light sleep, trying to stay awake and focused on the device, mentally reviewing all she had learned. She was hovering in that space where rational thoughts end and twilight dreams begin when a strange notion flitted through her mind and she jerked awake, sitting straight up. Rodney murmured in his sleep, disturbed by her movement.

Her heart was pounding. She thought about waking Rodney to ask him about it, but doubt started to cloud her mind. There was a large team of extremely intelligent people working on this problem. Rodney said Daniel was an expert linguist as well. It would be foolish to think. . . wouldn't it?

She looked at the clock. There were still about eight hours before the device would begin to fail and the memories would start to degrade. She was sure Rodney would only sleep a couple of hours before going back. If she woke him now, and she was wrong, she would deprive him of the rest he might need to finish the stone in time.

She slipped quietly from the bed and dressed. She paced the tiny living area. Was she this arrogant? Was this a part of her personality no one had revealed to her? She was a vacant, bumbling fool—how could she hope to solve this on her own?

She closed her eyes and visualized the words. Something. . . something was there. . . wasn't it? Was she so empty that she was creating meaning where there was none? She was starved for input, adrift, searching for significance in every word, every look, every gesture—from the people around her to the objects in her environment. She was alone, dying of thirst, surrounded by salty ocean. She was seeing water everywhere. That had to be it, right?

She went to the door and decisively opened it. The guard outside leapt to attention. He'd been leaning against the wall, dozing. Her lip curled in amusement.

"I need you to take me back to the lab," she said to him.

"Where's Dr. McKay?" he asked, looking confused.

"He's sleeping. I need to go back to the lab. I have work to do."

He looked skeptical and wary. He peered into the room, his expression hardening. "Not without McKay. I have my orders."

She clenched her jaw. "Call John—I mean, Colonel Sheppard. Tell him I need to go to the lab. I have an idea."

He squared his shoulders and stared her down. He was resolute now, impassive. "Colonel Sheppard is probably asleep. I'm not waking him for this. Go back to bed, Doc."

She glared at the soldier, thrumming with indignation. She could rail at him, but she could see it wouldn't make a difference and she'd probably just wake Rodney in the process, which would be cruel, and might just jeopardize her entire future.

She didn't break eye contact with the man, didn't move or breathe. She thought the door closed, watching with satisfaction as surprise flickered over his features and he jumped back before the door struck him.

She paced some more. This was ridiculous. She had to be imagining it. She was tired—spent, actually, and completely overwhelmed. It was too much. Too much to comprehend. That's why she was leaping to such absurd conclusions. An hour or two of sleep would be better than none and would put everything back into perspective. She sighed, changed back into the gown, and slowly, gently, slipped back into bed. She tried not to disturb him, but she must have. He mumbled and shifted closer, throwing an arm over her. She felt herself smile. She wondered if she knew how lucky she was to have found a man like this. She hoped she could hold on to him if this all went terribly wrong in the morning.

The misguided excitement had worn off. She felt herself relaxing into him, letting go. Then she remembered the comments Rodney and Carson had made about how difficult she could be to wake. _Dammit!_ She never should have gotten back into bed. Oh, she must be a very, very stupid girl. Now she was going have to try to stay awake until the alarm went off, because she suspected he might try to sneak out and leave her there to sleep.

But the minutes ticked by slowly and she found it harder and harder to keep her eyes open. Rodney radiated warmth and the sound of his rhythmic breathing in her ear was soft and soothing. She found herself shutting her eyes for long moments, reveling in the sensation of surrender, then fighting to open them again and think of something, anything to occupy her mind to keep herself awake. If only she could remember a song or a game, something to occupy her mind.

She didn't want to risk moving again and waking him. She'd already disturbed his sleep enough as it was. But it was getting harder to keep her eyes open. She started pinching herself, hoping that pain would help, but it only lasted a few seconds at a time and she realized she would be covered in bruises if she didn't stop. She was just about to give up when her fingers brushed against the ribbon tied at her throat.

Her nightgown had a small keyhole neckline with a long, loopy tie. She had deliberately chosen the most chaste among a small selection of decidedly un-sexy garments, to put Rodney at ease after the fiasco the night before. She pulled a tie loose and, fumbling in the dark, fed it under Rodney's hand resting on her midriff, tying it loosely to his wrist. She closed her eyes and yielded to the blissful peace of sleep.


	31. Chapter 31 invenire find

She woke to chaos—an alarm blaring, someone cursing, and the sound of rending fabric. Something was tugging on her and she opened her eyes, blinking, but it was dark. She sat up, slowly remembering what she'd done, and turned on the lights at a low level.

"Rodney, it's ok—stop pulling." She clutched at her nightgown, gaping and torn, with one hand and looked up to see Rodney standing next to the bed. He looked confused and was pulling at the ribbon tied to his wrist.

She crossed the space between them on her knees and used her nails to undo the knot on his wrist while he stood there, dumbly squinting at her, the alarm still grating in their ears. She got it loose and looked up at him, still holding his hand in hers.

"Why did you do that?" he asked, looking mystified.

"I didn't want you to leave without me." She looked down self-consciously. The remaining fabric of the torn gown was hovering just above her left areola. She tugged at the back of the nightgown so that she wasn't revealing quite so much and returned her gaze to him. "Will you turn off the alarm?"

But he didn't move. He just stood there, his hand still in hers and looked at her, his expression inscrutable. She turned to the alarm, thinking of shutting it off herself, when it suddenly stopped bleating. She looked back at him in time to see him move. He seized her, pulling her hard against him, and kissed her fervently, his hands on her back, moving over the thin fabric of the nightgown. She gasped with surprise, responding with equal passion, and sent her fingers over his stubbly face to rest in his messy hair. She wondered where this was going and knew it should stop because there was so much to do and so little time, but she couldn't make herself bring it to an end.

He finally did. He released her lips and pulled her into an even tighter hug, breathing roughly in her ear. After a moment, he wordlessly loosened his grip and she pulled away from him. Keeping her eyes cast down, she turned away and gathered up her clothes, disappearing into the bathroom to change and wash her face. She came out, putting her hair up in a ponytail, to find him dressed, sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting for her. He rose then and they started walking, silently, to the lab.

He was dead-tired and had been for days—she could see that now. He was just putting one foot in front of another because he had to. He was desperate. He'd said she'd been exhausted when she'd had the accident. He must have been in the same state—only he'd never gotten a chance to recover.

When they were halfway there, she said, "I know it must have been a lot harder on you yesterday—me being there. I'm sorry about that."

He shrugged tiredly.

"Did the rest help, do you think? Or do you feel worse?"

"I'll be fine once I get some coffee. I'll sleep when this is over." He glanced at her, grimacing. "Hopefully they made some progress while I was gone. If not, I'm going to have to try something else."

"What will you try?"

"I'll crack open the device and interface with it directly, bypassing the power-supply on the stone, making a direct link. It's risky, but it might work. I'll write a little code to make a patch."

Radek and a blonde woman looked up as they entered. Radek called out, "I think we're getting very close."

"You've been saying that for hours, Radek," Rodney answered cynically and wearily approached the bench where they were working.

Emily headed straight for the Ancient console and pulled up the document about the device again, scrolling through pages and pages of worthless symbols, looking for the ones that might matter.

"You're back." Daniel rose tiredly from a nearby bench to join her. "Couldn't sleep?"

"What's the point?" she spat out, then glanced at him apologetically. "I'm on the edge of an abyss, why should sleep matter now? Besides, something's nagging at me."

He arched his brows. "Well, you sound remarkably like yourself," he said dryly.

She stopped scrolling and breathed, "Oh, crap. I didn't imagine it. There it is."

Daniel's eyes narrowed and he perked up a bit, glancing from her to the display and back. "What?"

"That." She pointed at the display on the wall.

Daniel squinted. "Ok. That's the description of the device."

"Yes." She read it, re-read it, and read it again. Bells were ringing in her brain-pan. She could almost hear them. Something was there—hidden—but she couldn't pick it out. Some word in this paragraph, some phrase. . . .

"Ok, Em, what is it?"

She glanced at him. He wasn't looking at the display—he was watching her, cautiously, like she was on the verge of cracking up. "Dammit, Daniel, you're the expert—can't you see it?"

He was humoring her, staring at the display too, but he didn't see anything. She could tell.

"Slow down, Em. Tell me what you see."

"I. . . I'm not really sure, myself. The words are saying more than the words are supposed to say, but I'm not sure exactly which ones are saying it or what it is they're saying."

"You're seeing the inverted letters," he murmured. His eyes were darting over the display.

"Yes! Yes! Some of the letters are upside down! That means something, doesn't it? They're screaming at me. Something. Something. I just don't know what!"

Daniel took a couple of rapid steps away, grabbing a notebook. "Ok, ok, which ones are screaming at you?"

She looked down at the console and let intuition tell her fingers where to touch. Her hands flew over the controls, highlighting several words on the display and enlarging them. "These."

His expression grew more animated. "Ok. Inverted 'k.'" He flipped through the notebook he held.

She stared at the screen and waited impatiently.

"Ok, here it is. . . inverted 'k'—you say that means 'covert, obscure, or even deception.'" He looked back up at the screen. "Coupled with the word 'location,' related to the stone. Em—I think you're onto something, here."

"You—you're saying that the upside-down letters add another layer of meaning that is capable of conveying a different interpretation of the individual words?"

"Yes, Em. This is your work. You discovered this."

"Ok." She frowned. "Why isn't it in here, then, like the rest?" She pressed a fist to her forehead, her eyes not leaving the display.

"I don't know. You learned the language as a whole, first. This is a work in progress—you're still uncovering layers of meaning every day. You've been teaching me for the last week, but we've only scratched the surface."

She focused on the next word, gesturing at it. "This seems like. . . this word seems unusual. It means 'within' but it wouldn't be my first choice for that word."

He was nodding absently as he flipped through pages in the notebook. "Yes, yes. That word is used more frequently in the Milky Way dialect, but not as much here. It bothered me as well. It's a bit archaic for a Lantean text."

"The 'l' is inverted."

"Yes. . . looking. . . ." His brow furrowed and he looked up. "This one is vague—you say it intensifies the word, makes its meaning stronger in some sense—extreme."

She closed her eyes and focused on that single word. "Within, inside, centered, opened. This could mean all these things, but stronger, somehow?"

He looked troubled.

"What?"

"The third word you highlighted—there's no inverted letter there."

She turned back, frowning. "Yes—the 'v.'"

"The 'v'?" He shook his head slightly. "How can you tell the difference? It looks the same, transposed or not."

She touched a few keys, magnifying the letter on the display for him. "It's subtle—do you see the difference now?"

"Huh. I can't say I've ever noticed that before." He paged through the notebook some more.

She waited, watching him, as he paged back and forth. Suddenly, he set the notebook down and regarded her with a solemn expression. "There's no entry for 'v,' Em. You never recorded one."

She took a deep breath, determined to not let that stop her, and returned her attention to the display. She examined each word carefully and opened her mind to possibilities. She shut everything else out and meditated on what the 'v' in the word from 'drawer' might mean. Everything hinged on understanding that. She had. . . an impression. . . a vague intuition.

There were raised voices. Someone was arguing, threatening. She tried to block it out.

"It's not unlike our numeral, one, the v. . . ." she whispered, distractedly.

Daniel leaned in to hear her better. "Hm. Ok. What does that mean to you?"

"Unification, singularity. . . a whole."

There was a horrible, ear-splitting noise, suddenly, from behind her. She spun. Rodney stood poised above the carcaerum device with an electric cutting tool. He wore safety goggles and hearing protection. Radek stood nearby, shaking his head, looking disapproving.

"No!" she cried. "Stop him, Radek! I know where the stone is!"

Radek's reaction was delayed, blunted by fatigue.

She moved forward, shouting, "Stop him! Rodney, stop!"

The blade made contact. Sparks flew in arcs around the small circular saw.

Radek grasped Rodney's arm from behind and pulled it back, slightly. Rodney angrily turned the tool off and cast around, obviously about to berate Radek, when he noticed her crossing the room.

Her voice rang out into the sudden quiet. "Don't! I know where the stone is."

Rodney looked confused and annoyed. He pulled at his ear-coverings. "What?" he demanded.

"It's inside the device! The stone—it's inside the device!"

* * *

They stood in a circle around the device, nervously contemplating it. Rodney had a firm hold on her arm and kept asking her how she felt. He seemed perturbed by the fact that a small round button was glowing, faintly, red on the device. He wouldn't let her get too close.

Daniel had just carefully run gloved fingers over the entire thing, looking for a trigger or catch, but hadn't found one. He was examining it now, inch by inch, with a magnifying glass and a high-powered light.

"Are you sure?" Rodney pushed mercilessly.

"I. . . no. I can't be sure. But I think so, yes. I think that's what it means."

He looked skeptical, agitated.

"Look, you said the database was something the people here had public access to, right? If that's true—would they want all of the details about the device to be available to the general population? Wouldn't that be a security risk, given what the device is for? Saying the stone is kept in a drawer under the device could be a small misdirection—to keep the device and the stone more secure."

Rodney didn't look convinced. "But you—Emily, you just said you read it in the database."

"I know. I know. But maybe. . . maybe this was a code that only certain people knew. The council? People in power? Maybe there were elements within the rules of inverted letters that were meaningless to most people—or an extra layer of meaning within the code itself? I don't know and I doubt I ever will, even if I get my memory back. These Ancients—well it's obvious to me that you all revere them, but they were a bunch of secretive, cold-hearted bastards from what I can tell, so it hardly matters."

Rodney huffed, his eyes avidly on Daniel as he worked.

"Look, Rodney, if you think about it—they'd want the stone to be hidden so that the accused couldn't grab it and take off with it. They couldn't just leave it laying around, for security reasons. Yet, it would need to remain with the device, wouldn't it?"

"For what it's worth, I agree," Daniel said absently. "It makes sense that the two components wouldn't ever be separated. Maybe it isn't a drawer. Maybe it's a compartment underneath."

She implored Daniel, "You said there was another device on Earth that was similar? That had stones? How were they stored?"

"In small wooden boxes."

She blinked, disconcerted. "Oh."

"It's still worth looking, Em. At this point. . . we have to try everything."

Radek approached the group, his lips pressed in a line, shaking his head. "There are no hollow spaces in the schematics that would indicate a compartment."

Daniel was focused on the minute details of the decorative triangular designs outlining the base of the charcoal-colored device. After a few long minutes he let out a breath and looked up. "Here—look here," he pointed, handing the light and glass to Rodney. "It's not visible without the glass. It's a hairline break in the design in the shadow behind this embossed line. It looks intentional. You wouldn't find it unless you were looking for it."

Rodney walked her backwards a few steps. "Stay back," he urged. He took the tools from Daniel and crouched down, inspecting the spot Daniel had pointed to. "I see it," he said, his eyes widening.

She felt a lightening in her chest, but wished they would let her get closer, to see for herself. Daniel had assumed a guard-like stance next to her, just as Rodney had done, moments before.

"Alright, what's going on now?" said a voice behind them, near the door. It was John. His hair was even more messy than usual. The guard had clearly woken him. That had been what the yelling had been about, before Rodney had taken the saw to the device.

"We're busy, that's what's going on now," Rodney said, distractedly. He had pulled on some gloves and continued to examine the device minutely.

"What are you doing touching that thing? All we need is for you to get wiped too. I gave very clear orders that no one was to touch it," John said, glaring at the guard.

Radek spoke up. "Emily thinks the stone is hidden inside the device. It's possible they may have just discovered a hidden compartment."

"Really?" John said skeptically and stepped closer, watching Rodney work.

Emily grabbed Daniel's arm. "Wait a minute. What about this gene thing? I can control the lights, the doors, just by thinking about it. Can it control other things? Maybe it requires something like that to open the drawer?" She concentrated on the device, thinking, _Open, open, open,_ but nothing happened. She looked at Daniel, forlorn. "I'm the prisoner! It's not going to respond to me! Dr. Beckett? He has the same gene, doesn't he? Can we call him to try to open it?"

Daniel looked pointedly at John, leaning against a workbench nearby, watching. John straightened, frowning. The device spontaneously clicked a few times and a drawer slid out from the base, revealing a pearlescent-white object with a domed top.

Rodney jumped back as the drawer opened, uttering hoarsely, "Son of a bitch."

Radek slumped onto a stool, took off his glasses, and was rubbing his face, shaking his head slowly in disbelief. Neumann looked nonplussed. John returned her gaze with a ghost of a smile. Daniel nodded at her solemnly, eyebrows raised. Rodney turned to her, his eyes wide with amazement.

"What are we waiting for," she said, bouncing with excitement. "I'm ready."

"Let's take some precautions first," John said and touched his radio. "I need a medical team in the archeology lab. Wake up Carson, if he's not already up. We're about to restore Dr. Freedman's memory. He'll want to be here for that."

"We don't need to wake people up for this, surely," Emily said to John. "Haven't I robbed enough people of sleep with this? Just put the stone on the device. I'll touch it and we can all go back to bed."

Rodney shifted gears instantly. "John's right. I doubt it's as simple as that," Rodney said. "What does the database say about reversing the process?"

"Not much," she admitted. "I doubt that very many of the prisoners were ever reversed."

"Show me," he said, pulling her over to the console. She pulled up the short medical section about the device's research trials for him to read. "Well, that's hardly an adequate description," he complained. "Are you sure that's it?"

"I read and re-read all of this yesterday. That's all they left for us. I'm guessing the information was on a need-to-know basis. Only those in a position of power were going to have really useful details about this device, including where the stone was located and how to access it."

"The only useful thing this says is that you have to remain in proximity to the stone for twenty-four hours," he grumbled.

"I guess I'll just carry it around in my pocket," she said, smiling.

He frowned. "You'll be in the infirmary, Emily. Carson will want to monitor you."

"Oh." She hadn't thought about that. She heard the door to the lab open and two burly soldiers came in holding weapons. "What's going on?" she asked Rodney.

"I think John is worried you'll react like last time." He looked disturbed.

"Are they going to restrain me, do you think?" she asked, remembering the rush of adrenaline, overwhelming panic, and how she had somehow pushed Rodney to the floor.

"Not if I have anything to say about it," he said and went to talk to John.

Radek joined her.

She glanced at him guiltily. "I'm really sorry Radek. I'm sorry to have caused so much trouble."

"Don't worry about it," he said, shaking his head. "There's always trouble around here. I just wish they'd let you work on this sooner. Even without your memory, you're still very perceptive."

She didn't reply because as he spoke, the woman named Dr. Weir came in. This must be a very big deal if they woke up the administrator, she thought. She folded her arms because she found her fingers were trembling with anticipation and. . . maybe a little fear—not of the device—but of the reactions of everyone around her, their serious nature, the brute force they thought they might need to contain her. She didn't feel like she needed containing. She just wanted to get it over with. Carson and a medical team arrived with a gurney and various types of medical equipment.

"This is absurd," she said, irritation mounting. "What do they think is going to happen? I'm just going to get my memories back, right? The device took them so fast—won't the reversal be the same?"

Radek looked at her skeptically. "We really have no way of knowing what will happen, Emily. It's prudent to be cautious, don't you think?"

"Not really. I only have one option, don't I? I'm not going to react the same way because I'll know, won't I, what's happening? I'm not going to be panicking. I'm going to be happy, right? I don't need an audience. I need to get it done."

Radek was peering into her face, looking unsettled.

Rodney gestured peremptorily at her. She crossed the room swiftly, feeling her heart thumping in her chest, her extremities tingling.

He put a hand on her arm, saying, "Daniel is going to move the stone into its place on the device. We'll wait a minute and then you can touch it, ok?"

She pivoted as Daniel carefully picked up the stone with gloved fingers and placed it into its well on the surface of the device. The small decorative flag on the top of the device glowed vibrant yellow.

She looked up at Rodney, trying to communicate with him somehow, silently. His eyes were scanning her face, but she couldn't tell what he was thinking. There were things she should have said to him but the opportunity hadn't been there and she hoped she would remember what they were after she touched the stone. She turned then, noting that the two soldiers were very near and that everyone was watching her.

"Thank you, everyone, for your concern and your help," she said, her eyes shifting from face to face. She felt strangely like she should say goodbye to them, which seemed absurd, so she settled on, "I'm sorry to have caused so much trouble." Then she turned back to the device, reaching out a hand, but not quite touching it. She took a deep breath and decisively closed the gap between her hand and the stone and. . . nothing happened.

She stood there for a long moment, waiting, and began to feel foolish. She dropped her hand, turned to Rodney and shook her head. He looked worried and she started to say something to him about it not working, but something vivid flashed behind her eyes. She lurched with surprise and said, "Oh," instead. Rodney reached out to steady her and someone else grabbed her other arm.

She could sense people talking, sounding anxious, and they were moving her. But they were muted, competing with the other thing that was trying to dominate her vision.

She closed her eyes and was transported. Before her were Ricochet and Klingon. She was playing fetch with them, laughing as the two fat yellow labs competed over a brown, slimy, tennis ball. There was a sweet, floral scent hanging on the air, mingling with the scent of freshly cut grass and faint whiffs of gasoline. In the background, there was a distant roar of several lawnmowers. The sun was bright and warm on her skin. She threw the ball again, wiping her hand on her jeans, commenting to Mom about how disgustingly dirty the ball was. Mom smiled knowingly and said that was why she didn't play fetch with them.

The ball was at her feet. She threw it again, but her aim was bad. It went into the ancient rose bush. Ricochet was out ahead and she called out to him to stop. She took a few steps after him, but it was too late. Ricochet was inside the oversized, thorny bush, squealing in pain. Mom was there, comforting the dog, while Emily sobbed with remorse.

Emily held Ricochet's head in her lap, her hand covering Ricochet's bleeding eye with a clean towel while Mom raced to the veterinarian. She couldn't stop crying, even after the vet reassured her and gave her a sucker. Ricochet was going to be ok. But the next day, her Mom spent most of the day hacking down the shrub, covered in pale pink, fragrant blossoms, that she loved. Emily sat on the back porch and watched, hugging Ricochet with the bandaged eye close as he panted softly in her ear.

Someone else was speaking in her ear, saying her name, and she opened her eyes to look. She was surprised to see hallways rushing past. "Ricochet was ok," she said to reassure whomever might need to hear. Then her vision clouded again and she closed her eyes in confusion as her mom came downstairs wearing a black party dress. Sparkling jewelry bobbed from her ears and dangled from her wrist.

Emily sulked by the Christmas tree, petting Dodger the cat who didn't really want to be held. She was thirteen and far too old for a sitter, but Mom was going to be out very late because she was going out with Martin. Mrs. Coons from next door would be there soon. Emily disliked Martin and did her best to tell Mom so, but Mom didn't want to hear it. Mom said she could have a cookie and could call a friend on the phone, but mean old Mrs. Coons sent her to bed early for being disrespectful so she stayed up late reading with a flashlight under the covers, waiting for Mom to come home.

She must have fallen asleep because Mom found her in the morning, the flashlight dead on her shoulder and the book still in her hand. Mom laughed and said Martin was a pig and who needed men anyway, right Em? They were good together, alone, just the two of them. Mom hugged her harder than she should have and wiped away a tear. But Emily was glad in a childish way—glad that Martin had disappointed her—because now it would just be the two of them, the way it should be.

She sighed now, wondering what poor Martin had done and opened her eyes to find Carson scanning her and someone else taking her blood. She started at the abrupt change of scenery. She appeared to be in the infirmary.

"She's conscious," someone said. "Her eyes are open."

"She's been conscious the whole time," Carson answered. "Something is happening with that bloody stone."

"Where's Rodney?" she asked quietly. "Can you hear me?"

"Yes, love, he's here. Who's Ricochet?"

"My dog. . . ." She blinked in confusion. "What's happening?"

"We aren't sure," he replied, but she barely heard him.

In the distance she heard her own small voice crying out, "Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! You're home!" and she closed her eyes, curious to see him. Delicious cooking smells flooded her senses and her mouth watered in response. She must have been incredibly small because Daddy put down his flight bag and picked her up, swinging her around and around until her head spun, her pink dress billowing out as she squealed with laughter.

"Hey, Punky! Where's Ma?" he said, eyes twinkling.

"In the kitchen, making roast beef and mashed potatoes—your favorite! Mommy hurt her foot today in the garden, Daddy, so be nice to her."

"I promise I will," he said, smiling. Daddy could be grumpy, but he always smiled, devilishly. He wasn't angry or mean. He just had a hard job and worked with too many stupid people. She grabbed his hand and led him to the kitchen, but then he was grumpy after all. He made Mommy sit down and rest. Then he wasn't happy until she promised to call the doctor in the morning.

After that, he smiled again and put on Mommy's frilly apron and finished making supper, giving Mommy silly kisses and dabbing blobs of mashed potatoes on Emily's tiny, child-sized nose while she showed him her newest dance moves. He laughed at her, encouraging her to dance more and to sing to him in Spanish which she happily obliged. She could hear herself singing, but it was fading fast and she tried to hold on to Daddy's handsome, smiling face, but soon he was gone too.

She sat up in protest, calling out, "Wait!" but he was gone and she opened her eyes to see Carson's concerned expression up close.

"Emily? Can you tell us what's happening to you when you close your eyes?"

"I'm remembering," she said, watching, as he prepared to do a scan.

"What are you remembering?" he asked.

"Just now? My Dad. Where's Rodney?" she asked, feeling confused about what was real. "Oh, it's starting again," she said and closed her eyes.

"Wait, Emily, wait—can you stay here with me a little longer?" he asked.

She furrowed her brow and tried. "It's hard," she said. "I don't want to miss anything. I. . . have a headache," she said and tried to concentrate on him, but there was something projecting over his features. "I can't right now, sorry," she said and closed her eyes again.

Mom spoke in hushed whispers with grown-ups that Emily didn't know. No one was the same, all of a sudden. Daddy got hurt somehow. Or maybe he was sick. She wasn't sure yet. It smelled funny here. She didn't like it. She just watched him closely. He seemed to be sleeping. She thought he would be ok. He was Daddy, after all, and he could be gone for days but he always came home.

Mom cried a lot, took her home and put her to bed. She curled up beside her, holding her close. Emily tried to comfort her, but it didn't seem to help. The phone rang and Mom got up to answer it. Oh, no. No, no, no, "No!" she exclaimed, opening her eyes and pushing it away. "I don't want to remember that!" she said emphatically, looking around wildly. Rodney was there and she clung to him, trying to breath, as Carson wrapped a blood pressure cuff around her arm and watched sympathetically. "Carson, make it stop," she begged.

Eighth grade. History class. She lingered as long as she dared, fiddling with her bag, slowly putting multi-colored pens away and needlessly opening and closing pockets. She watched the doorway nervously to see if Patti was outside, waiting to torment her. Miss Riddle brought a book and set it on her desk. It was called, The Adventure of Archeology by Brian Fagan.

"Bring it back when you're done and I'll give you another," the pretty Miss Riddle had said and showed her another way to leave the classroom so that Patti couldn't find her.

She smiled at Rodney dreamily, and said, "I'm hungry, what time is it?" She was starting to get used to the back and forth. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, watching her.

"That one was better?" he asked, his features a mask of concern. "Are you ok?"

"It's skipping around," was all she could say. She felt some pressure on her head and felt with her fingers, saying, "What's this?"

"Carson's monitoring your brain activity. Just leave it there, ok?"

"Ok. . . ." She intended to say more, but Jacob was clouding her vision. How did she know him? Jacob was everywhere she went. Class, cafeteria, coffee shop. Oh, yes, they dated for more than six months. He was so kind. He said he could be patient, when she had finally confessed her problem. He said he didn't have much of a sex drive, so not to worry. He didn't demand, cajole, plead—like the others had done. He didn't paw or grope. He seemed content with tender kisses and snuggles. And so they went along this way for months on end, happily spending every spare moment together, talking about everything under the sun.

Until one day a friend asked how he was in bed. She had frozen and sputtered and her friend guessed the truth. It seemed clear from that reaction that this wasn't typical, maybe even verging on abnormal. So she had gone to him, sure she was ready, sure she trusted him, loved him. He seemed to want to, tried, but couldn't, and finally painfully admitted that he thought he was asexual. He said it was a real thing; he'd read about it on the internet. He thought she was the same and couldn't they just go back to the way they were? But she knew. It wasn't the answer for either of them and they drifted apart. He was with Mark now and happy, she remembered, from his infrequent emails. And then the next boy who paid any attention. . . but that hadn't worked out either, had it?

_Author's note: if you are enjoying this fic, please leave a comment here and tell your friends about it!_


	32. Chapter 32 soliciti worry

Rodney tried closing his eyes, tried to relax into sleep, but guilt and worry wouldn't let it happen. After an hour, he glanced at his watch in frustration and sat up. It felt really wrong to leave her just to sleep, but Carson had insisted. He got on his radio to check on her. No change. Still sleeping.

Carson seemed fairly certain she wasn't in serious danger after running every scan and test possible—all showing her brain lit up like a Christmas tree. It seemed her memories hadn't been blocked or hidden, but actually destroyed somehow. Carson concluded her brain was re-mapping itself now with this flood of information from the stone. The hippocampus, a pair of small, seahorse-shaped areas in the center of the brain that processes and solidifies new memories, was, in particular, hundreds of times more active than the average individual.

She was clearly experiencing at least some of the memories like waking dreams or hallucinations, which was disconcerting to watch, and they had all been visibly relieved when she fell asleep. The transfer was smoother during sleep, too. Neumann was still monitoring the stone and noted an increase in data throughput as soon as Emily drifted off to sleep. It was either uploading each memory faster, or uploading multiple memories at a time while she slept—possibly because she wasn't fighting it so hard.

Once asleep, she would likely sleep for hours, Carson reminded him, and he knew that Carson was right. That was the only reason he'd agreed to rest himself. Carson promised to wake him as soon as anything changed. Rodney reached out, grabbed her pillow and hugged it, smelling the faint, fruity scent of her hair lingering there. This couldn't be over soon enough.

He wandered through the rooms, picking up objects, looking at them, and setting them down again. She was already so important to him. He wanted everything to go back to the way it was. He wanted her to smile and laugh and put him in his place.

He wished he could buy her little trinkets in some of the trading towns they visited on missions, but money meant nothing here and he had nothing to trade. He thought of the pendant he'd gotten for her in Geldar. She put it on a chain and never took it off, except to shower. She was still wearing it. . . even now. Maybe he should requisition something from back home, something useful he could trade, like a case of flashlights, so he could get her something. Judging by some of the small objects she kept here and the few he'd noticed in her lab, she would be interested in the handmade items being traded throughout Pegasus. Her birthday was in just a few weeks. That wasn't a lot of time.

He didn't want to think about what had just happened—that he'd just come really close to failing her. He could only hope that in the final hours he would have come up with something brilliant. It didn't matter. Well, it shouldn't matter, anyway, but somehow it did.

He groaned, remembering her kneeling on the bed, the torn gown drooping off one shoulder, her breast peeking out from the fold of fabric like a luscious, ripe peach, her face framed by a tousled cloud of unruly curls. He'd broken the very rule he'd insisted on setting the night before, because. . . because he couldn't resist her looking so. . . incredibly lovely and she. . . she'd acted like a demure school girl, trying to honor his wishes. He sighed and swallowed hard.

The device may have taken her memories, but it hadn't taken her personality. She was remarkably the same person in nearly every regard. Affectionate. Quirky. She had a different way of thinking. Still full of surprises and intensely curious, she always managed to meet her goals, though she often had strange ways of getting there. She seemed bolder, though, less cautious, and he wondered if she might naturally be a far less timid person. Perhaps her forgotten experiences had shaped her that way, forced her to be more shy and circumspect. He'd gotten glimpses of that bolder side before and liked it.

He sat back down on the bed and eased back, scrubbing a hand over his face. Maybe he could sleep now.

He didn't deserve her, he thought, not for the first time. He couldn't imagine what force had kept her tethered to him through this ordeal. But, despite the pain of being with her like that, it made him realize how fundamentally good for him she really was. Nearly every woman he'd ever been with either issued ultimatums or preyed on his insecurities until he was a seething ball of conflicting emotions. Not Emily. She seemed to naturally bring out the best in him—using humor, a smile, a kind word, a subtle ignoring. Only when provoked would she unleash her own temper. She didn't have to threaten or coerce. He could just be and she seemed happy with that arrangement. He would never have guessed that he would be fortunate enough to find someone who would remain steadfast in her desire to be with him, no matter what might try to get in the way, but he had found her, and he was incredibly grateful. With that thought echoing in his mind, he drifted off to sleep himself.

* * *

Emily woke with a start, thinking she had fallen asleep and missed a final exam. She'd been studying so hard, trying to prepare, and hadn't been getting enough sleep. But when she looked around, she was in the infirmary again, and Daniel was sitting in a chair by her bedside. "Where's Rodney?" she asked.

"Carson made him go get some rest. He was pretty exhausted. You, my dear, have been sleeping for hours."

She shifted uncomfortably. There was too much going on in her head and her stomach was angrily demanding sustenance. "I'm starving," she said crossly, "Why no food?"

He looked dubious. "I'm told they brought you some earlier, but you fell asleep before they could get it to you. Hold on, you aren't going anywhere—you have IV's and wires sticking out all over you." He pressed her shoulder back down gently and called for a nurse to get her some food.

She watched him warily, trying to compartmentalize the memory of watching a movie at a friend's house in third grade to another sector of her awareness, along with several more memories, all competing for her attention. "So. . . Rodney is sleeping?" she was finally able to ask.

"Yes," he said, narrowing his eyes at her. "You're still here."

"Barely," she answered, sighing and trying not to close her eyes, but it was hard. Things were swirling around in there and she wanted to keep track of it all, but it was impossibly hard.

"They told me you could only stay alert for a few moments at a time."

"I'm trying to keep it separate right now," she countered, annoyed that he wanted to talk so much. "I'm really hungry, Daniel."

He went off to find Carson to see if he could speed up the food. She gratefully closed her eyes and skated with her mother at the local outdoor rink, snow drifting around them silently. When she got cold, Mom bought her a cup of truly terrible hot cocoa, but she didn't mind.

"Emily?" Carson asked, hovering over her with a concerned expression.

"Still here—waiting for food, please," she said, opening her eyes.

"Are you experiencing a memory now?" he asked, looking down at a tablet computer.

"Several, actually, I think," she answered, with difficulty. "They just keep bubbling to the surface. I really need to eat something." Couldn't he see that she couldn't hang on to this wildly-spinning, carnival ride forever?

"What's changed?" Carson asked. "You seem to have more control now."

"Don't know. Maybe just used to it." She grimaced. "Damn it, don't you have a power bar or something?" she growled with exasperation.

He grinned at her. "That's it, love. Here. More on the way soon, ya wee peckish demon."

He handed her a power bar and she tore into it with a vengeance, keeping a baleful eye on Daniel and Carson.

"Two peas in a pod, those two," Carson was saying to Daniel, quietly.

"Yes, except she's a lot prettier," Daniel said wryly.

"Ay," Carson said, smiling.

"I can hear you," she muttered, trying to ignore the memory of her sixth grade teacher humiliating her in front of the class because she had corrected him on a point of English grammar.

* * *

The radio squawked on the table next to the bed, saying that she was awake and asking for him. It was just about noon, Rodney realized grimly, as he put on his shoes. This was going to be a long day—a long twenty-four hours, he amended. Then. . . he just hoped there wouldn't be any permanent scars from the experience.

When he arrived, she looked better than she had in the morning. Before he could even get to her, one of the junior scientists assigned to her lab was updating him on what the stone was doing. It had doubled its throughput again about an hour before she woke. It seemed to be sensing what she could tolerate and was ratcheting up the connection as she grew accustomed to it over time.

She was eating lunch, he noted, and felt his own stomach grumble with emptiness. She smiled brightly and his heart gave a little tug at the familiar sight of it. He pulled up the empty chair next to her bed and watched her eating. She paused frequently, closing her eyes in concentration for long moments.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, hesitantly.

She finished chewing and smiled. "Glad to see you."

"Good. But, ah. . . ."

She snorted. "This," she said, indicating her head with the fork, "is a hot mess. You really don't want to know." She took another bite of mashed potatoes. "Did you know. . . this is my dad's favorite meal? Did I tell you?"

"No. You don't talk about him much. He liked roast beef?"

"And potatoes. I'd forgotten. He said. . . he would eat them. . . for dessert. Lots of gravy." She closed her eyes then for a moment, focused inwardly.

He frowned, "What, ah, what's going on inside there?" He nodded toward her head.

She looked annoyed and grit out, "It's busy. What do you think?"

Carson motioned for him to come away. "I suggest avoiding a lot of questions at this point, Rodney. It's difficult for her to stay focused for long and she's very. . . um. . . irritable." He raised his eyebrows. "Better to go with the flow."

Rodney furrowed his brow and looked back at her, "She's ok, right?"

"All indications are yes. I'm still running tests. But yes, the stone is making the impossible possible. Her brain scans show even more activity than just a few hours ago. I've never seen anything like it, except, well, the ascension accident, of course. You people have got to be more bloody careful with these Ancient devices." Carson shook his head.

Rodney rolled his eyes, "How is she able to speak, eat, be conscious?"

"I don't know. I've asked a lot of questions," Carson grimaced, "And she told me she's receiving multiple streams of memories at once, but that she can push them back if she concentrates. She said it's like being surrounded by four or five tellies blaring—it's a lot of noise and she can tune it out. But I doubt she can do it for long. My guess is she'll sleep again soon. Best spend some time while you can." He nodded toward Emily. "She's a bit grumpy, but coping as well as could be expected, given the bloody bizarre circumstances," he said, shaking his head and turning away to monitor the data on one of his devices.

Rodney returned to her bedside and sat down, watching her. She looked exhausted. She was finishing up the food on the tray.

"Second tray," she said with a conspiratorial smile. "Was starving. Poor Carson. I'm a bad patient." She pushed the tray away and leaned back, looking at him. "You're growing a beard. I like it. Keep it?"

He touched his face self-consciously, trying to remember the last time he'd shaved. Was it twenty-four hours ago, or more? "Hm," he said, rubbing the thick stubble, "Maybe."

"You look like a professor. . . or a lumberjack." She smiled. "Come here." She gestured limply that he should come close.

He complied and she impatiently pulled him down so their faces were inches apart. She touched his bristling stubble then, closing her eyes. She sighed deeply. "I like it," she said softly and pulled his face closer for a brief kiss. "I missed you when I was gone," she whispered and touched her forehead to his.

He felt acutely aware that there were others around. He was feeling a bit exposed. He didn't want the nurses gossiping about them kissing or his facial hair and what she thought about it.

"I want to go home," she said tiredly, releasing him.

"To Earth?"

"No, to our quarters, our bed. I just want real sleep. Not this jumble." She sighed and closed her eyes.

"It'll be over soon," he said, patting her hand. He felt so inadequate. What was he supposed to say to her? He was pretty sure there weren't any books written on how to get your live-in-girlfriend through a life-altering brush with total amnesia. Then again, he considered, maybe there were.

Her eyes opened again. "I'm remembering so much. . . that I had forgotten before. I'm aware now. . . of being unaware before. I remember my dad. I didn't tell you. . . he was an airline pilot. You're like him in some small ways. Never thought of that before." She smiled sadly for a moment, then continued, "He was good. Loved me. . . so sweet. Terrible when a good man. . . dies young. But then, you know that too well. . . don't you?" Her eyes were closing and he saw a tear trailing down her cheek. He reached out instinctively to wipe it away.

He watched her intently until Carson came up and said quietly, "I'm reading delta waves, Rodney. She's deeply asleep."

He turned to Carson, speaking quietly but angrily, "Why didn't you wake me sooner?"

Carson frowned. "I know. I'm sorry. It took us a fair bit to realize she had a bit more control and would be able to maintain alertness for more than a few moments."

Rodney noticed that there was a camera mounted now, above her bed. "You're recording her? Why?" he asked incredulously.

"As a physician, and a scientist, I doubt I'll ever get another opportunity to study how the brain processes memory in such a focused fashion. It's unfortunate that this happened, but we can learn from it. It could help others."

"And where are you going to publish your little paper, Doctor? Hm? The Annals of Pegasus Galaxy Medicine?"

Carson turned away to check something. "I should think you, of all people, would understand."

He followed on Carson's heels. "Not when it's my. . . girlfriend, I don't." He scowled. Girlfriend sounded like such an inadequate word. She was so much more to him than a casual relationship. Maybe when this was all over he should do something about that.

Carson didn't reply, just shot him a determined look and kept working.

"Dr. McKay, Dr. Beckett, the throughput just increased by another fifty percent," Graden commented from a workstation he had set up nearby.

"How much more of this can she take?" Rodney asked out loud, though he knew it was really more of a rhetorical question. She would take as much as she had to, to get her life back.

Carson's expression softened and he came to stand next to Rodney. "Thirty-two years of memories transferred in one day? It's only going to get more intense. She may not regain consciousness again, until it's done," Carson commented, glancing at Rodney sympathetically. "Don't worry, Rodney. She's incredibly stubborn. She's a special woman. She'll be fine."

"Yeah." He looked at Carson and flinched, remembering that Carson had cared about her too. He'd been spending all his free time with Emily and hadn't even seen Carson except in an official capacity for weeks. "Look, I know we haven't talked about what happened. . . before. I—"

"We don't need to," Carson cut him off. "It's none of my business. I didn't have any claim on her."

"Oh. Ok." That was a relief, but right now it didn't make him feel any better. He couldn't stop the doubts creeping up. What if this changed her? What if she wouldn't ever be the same again?

He sat and watched her sleep for a while, ate the lunch Carson ordered for him, and looked over the data collected from the stone. He was about to sit down with a laptop and resume work on a project he'd started a few days before when he heard Emily mumbling. He leapt up. Her eyes were closed and she moved a little, restlessly. She was murmuring some combination of numbers and letters. He realized it was a Milky Way gate address and found a scrap of paper to jot it down. P7R-972. It might have some significance to her later.

Her eyes opened then, looking glassy, distant, and she said urgently, hoarsely, "Please tell Daniel. June 17, 2010—P7R-972."

Now he knew what this was. "I will," he replied with conviction.

She looked terrible and he was starting to feel a little scared.

Carson appeared. "Do you need anything, love?"

She swallowed as though her mouth were dry and whispered, "Something stronger. . . for pain."

"Is it time for the morphine, then, love?" Carson asked, looking concerned.

"Please," she answered simply and shut her eyes. "I won't fight it anymore. . . now I know." She opened her eyes again and looked at Rodney. "I'll see you in the morning. . . when it's done. Get some rest. . . tonight, ok?" She didn't wait for an answer. She just closed her eyes again.

Carson injected something in her IV and checked a laptop. "Delta waves, mixed sporadically with other waveforms. She's in some kind of sleep state now."

"Morphine?" Rodney asked, still worriedly scanning her face—it looked tight, pinched, he thought.

"She told me earlier the headache was nearly unbearable but refused anything very strong," Carson explained, then nodded at the paper Rodney held in his hand. "What's that you wrote down? What was she saying?"

"Something she wanted to remember before, but couldn't," he answered, looking down thoughtfully at the slip of paper in his hand. "It's a long story."

"The throughput just tripled," he heard Graden say incredulously.

He realized then, what she'd been doing. She'd been wading through the memories, actively waiting and watching for that critical one to show up. The one that might set it right for Daniel. She'd refused strong painkillers so she could stay focused on her goal. He hoped she hadn't just sacrificed part of her memory to save Daniel's life.

He resisted feelings of petty jealousy. It was dishonorable to feel that way. He knew she saw it as a personal failure that she hadn't been able to remember those critical details. He wouldn't dishonor her by giving in to those old insecurities. He would give Daniel this information and good luck to him. If she could be that strong. . . he could be too. He glanced at his watch. It was three in the afternoon. Nearly the midpoint.

He worked a few more hours. She didn't awaken or even move during that time. Carson continued to buzz around her, scanning, taking readings and looking over data. He came to Rodney's side, pulling up another chair.

"I know it isn't much," Carson said tiredly, "but I've analyzed some of the data and determined that when she woke at lunchtime she was actively suppressing portions of her visual cortex somehow. I don't know how one would do that consciously, but as she spoke to us, its activity was decreased and each time she closed her eyes, it briefly re-engaged, presumably allowing her to see the memories. If I hadn't had a time-stamped recording, I would not be able to tell you that, Rodney."

"Hm. That's fascinating," he conceded.

"Yes. It must be something the device is allowing her to do."

"I can see why you would find that interesting, but what use could that possibly be to anyone? It's not like this is a situation that people encounter everyday, Carson."

"Obviously. But the visual cortex is an area of the brain that isn't well understood. Studying this event could give us some clues as to how it functions. Her brain is really doing some incredible, incredible things, Rodney. This is only a small part. Ultimately, it will be up to her. Whether or not she will give consent."

He looked at her, now peacefully sleeping. The morphine, over time, had smoothed out her expression. "I'm sure she will," he said reluctantly and returned his gaze to his laptop. Carson put a hand on his shoulder for a moment, then walked away.

A short time later, Daniel came in and sat down next to him, silently, watching her sleep. After a few minutes he said, "I thought you might like to go get something to eat. I can stay with her, if you like."

Rodney looked up from his laptop and tried to moderate his natural antipathy for Daniel. "That's. . . nice of you," he said, feeling mildly surprised.

Daniel didn't say anything, just nodded, his lips pressed together in a thin line. After a moment he said, "Radek and I would like to take shifts tonight, sitting with her, so you can get some rest." He glanced at Rodney briefly, then looked away.

"Hm," Rodney answered, noncommittally. He shut the laptop and sat there for a moment, feeling indecisive about how to tell Daniel the information Emily wanted him to have. Finally, he rose and handed Daniel the folded slip of paper. "I think you'll know what this is," he said evenly, watching Daniel's expression.

Daniel looked surprised, then took the paper from Rodney's outstretched hand and opened it slowly, his jaw clenching as he realized what it meant.

"She wanted you to know," Rodney said quietly, keeping her sacrifice to himself. "I'll be back in an hour. Contact me if she wakes, ok?" he asked warily.

"Oh, ah, of course," Daniel replied, still staring at the paper. He seemed to realize Rodney was still watching him and he folded the paper and shoved it in a pocket, clearing his throat. "Yes, yes, I have a radio. I'll call the second she wakes."

After he returned from eating, he was surprised when Daniel lingered. They sat there in uncomfortable silence for a long time, both of them watching her sleep. Finally, Rodney opened his laptop and started working on the simulation he'd been setting up before he left. Daniel seemed to be lost in thought.

Suddenly Daniel spoke, "You know, the first six months that she worked for me, she could barely meet my eyes when she spoke to me. She didn't have any idea how special she was. She worked long hours, trying to prove herself to us, rarely leaving the lab. Gradually, I think, she came to see our respect for what it really was and her confidence grew. One day. . . I'd just come back to the SGC after being gone nearly a year. . . she confided in me that her father had died when she was very young. Someone must have told her that was something. . . well, that we have in common. That was the beginning of the friendship. I watched as this incredibly talented girl grew into a confident young woman over the course of months, years."

Rodney watched Daniel, not being able to help feeling a little leery. Daniel's eyes never left Emily's face as he spoke in an even, nearly emotionless, manner.

"She is. . . incredible. You must know that," Daniel said, glancing at Rodney. "If she hadn't experienced that device back on Earth, we wouldn't be here now. But she made a choice, based on what she knew at the time, and it was the right one for her, I think, given what she's told me. I cannot comprehend what it must have taken for her to give me this. . . gift. I hope you won't doubt her because of it. She's a good friend to me, but she's happy with you. Just don't screw it up, McKay," he said gently, and started to go. Then, he turned back and said, "I'll come back in a few hours so you can get some sleep."

Rodney stood up then, and crossed to Emily's bedside, watching her sleep, knowing that beneath that peaceful expression there must be turmoil. He hadn't doubted her—not recently anyway, he amended with chagrin.

Carson came wandering up, his eyes on a tablet, and glanced up at Rodney. "Oh, hello, Rodney," he said with forced nonchalance.

Rodney rolled his eyes. "You heard."

Carson looked sheepish. "It's a hazard of the occupation. Sorry. So, em, this wasn't Emily's first brush with a device, I take it?"

"No, it wasn't," he replied, annoyed.

Carson shook his head, "What did the other device do?"

"Hm," he snorted softly, still looking at her face. "It gave her a vision of the future. She was supposed to marry him and not meet me for another twenty-five years."

"Holy Mother of God," Carson swore, his eyes wide. "What happened?"

"She changed it. She came looking for me instead," he replied flatly

Carson looked confused. "So, it wouldn't have gone well between them, then?"

"No."

"And the paper you gave him?"

"The date and place of his death, four years from now."

"Bloody hell."

Rodney looked up. Carson was looking at her with fear and dread. "Carson, she doesn't know the date and place of your death. She only knew his, because she was, well, would have been, married to him when it happened. She couldn't remember it before and it. . . bothered her that she couldn't."

"Oh. Is that what she was waiting for, then?"

"I believe she was hoping to see that memory more clearly, yes," he said reluctantly and sank into the chair again with a sigh.

"It seems she met success then."

"Hm. I just hope she hasn't sacrificed some other important memories in order to find that one."

Carson looked thoughtful. "The database said to allot twenty-four hours regardless of the age of the prisoner. If she was thirty-years old, or sixty-five years old, the amount of time referenced would be the same."

"Maybe. But she fought it for nearly ten hours, Carson. That's forty-two percent of the transfer time."

"There are bound to be those that would fight it one-hundred percent of the time—believe me, I've had those patients. It's likely something was built into the device to deal with that. I wouldn't worry yet. A better subject of worry would be how to prevent something like this from happening again."

"I don't know how we could have prevented this, unless we'd left the device buried. She was drawn to it like a moth to a flame, Carson, which is exactly how they intended it to work." He scratched at the hot, itchy beard sprouting from his face.

"Aye, I know," he said, frowning, looking back down at his work. Then he looked up and smiled. "Will you be keeping the beard, then?"

Rodney sat the laptop back on his lap and got back to work, ignoring Carson's query.


	33. Chapter 33 rememoratio recollection

Hours passed and Emily didn't move or make a sound. There was a shift change and Carson brought in another doctor to take over for him. She looked too young to be a doctor. Rodney hadn't met her before. _She must be new_, he thought dismissively, and tried to tune out Carson's long-winded instructions to her. He was concentrating, working out the parameters for a simulation he was working on, when a voice spoke from beside him, making him jump.

"I take it Dr. Freedman's your sweetheart?"

He frowned. It was the young doctor.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have interrupted your work. I'm Jennifer Keller," she said, holding out a hand.

He reluctantly extended his own hand, "Dr. Rodney McKay."

"Oh, I've heard about you. You're the cantankerous one, aren't you?" she asked, smiling knowingly.

He frowned and turned back to his laptop. Emily was right. He did have a reputation. Maybe it was time to work on that.

She stood up and crossed to the medical supply cart next to Emily's bed. "So, this little white hockey puck has all of her memories inside it and is transferring that back to her right now. It's amazing, really," she said, bending down to get a closer look at it.

"Don't touch that," Rodney barked, without thinking.

She straightened and turned, looking surprised, "Oh, I wouldn't—"

"Shouldn't you be doing something to make sure she's ok?" he demanded.

She assumed a more patronizing expression. "Dr. Beckett has everything set up. I'm just supposed to monitor her in case she has a seizure or something."

That was a possibility he hadn't thought of. His eyes darted in alarm to Emily's face.

"Oh, no. No. I'm sure she won't. I'm just saying—I'm here in case anything goes wrong. But I'm sure it won't," she said, clearly trying to placate him. "I'll just leave you alone, go sit over there and keep an eye on her." She moved away, then turned to ask, "Can I get you anything? A coffee?"

"I'm fine," he answered stiffly, watching her settle across the room with a baleful eye, before returning to his work.

Radek came in shortly after that and Rodney closed the laptop with a sigh.

"How's she doing? Any change?" Radek asked as he sat down in the empty chair next to him.

"No," Rodney said, rubbing an eye tiredly. "She woke briefly at three this afternoon, but nothing since then. The stone seemed to reach its maximum throughput then. Carson thinks she won't regain consciousness again until it's done. It's all on that laptop, if you want to see for yourself," he said, indicating the laptop that they were using to monitor the stone's output.

"Ok. Anything you would like me to do while I'm here?" Radek asked.

"You can take a look at these simulations I've been working on," he answered, handing his laptop to Radek. "Just radio if she wakes up or if anything goes wrong. I'm not going far." He stood up, feeling reluctant to leave. "I thought Daniel was going to take the first shift?"

"I just drank a pot of coffee, so I thought I might as well go first," Radek answered, smiling warmly. "Don't worry. We'll watch her carefully, my friend."

He managed a partial smile of gratitude and a nod, which was the best he could do by way of a thank you. He plodded heavily back to his old quarters, took a quick shower because he couldn't remember the last time he'd taken one, and turned his face from side to side in front of the mirror, slanting an eye at the beard casting a heavy shadow on his face. It was thick enough already that it would take some time to get rid of—time he didn't really want to spend right now when he could be sleeping. He was pretty sure he didn't like it though. He'd never really experimented with facial hair. It wasn't really his thing, unlike John who seemed to maintain a certain amount of bristle for the ladies, he thought with a snort. He dabbed on a little foam, cleaned up the edges, and called that good enough for now. Then he set an alarm and collapsed on the bed.

The alarm seemed to go off mere seconds later, but he felt a little lighter as he shrugged on some clean clothes and trudged back to the infirmary. Daniel was sitting there reading a book and Neumann was monitoring the stone. They stood up when he approached.

"The stone's output has tapered off over the last few hours," Neumann volunteered. "It's down to the level it was at just after she initialized it."

"She hasn't stirred since you left," Daniel commented.

"Where's the doctor?" Rodney asked, looking around in consternation.

"She just went to wake Dr. Beckett," Daniel replied.

Carson came out then, alongside Keller, shrugging on a lab coat. "Ok, then. Let's see what her brain is doing now, shall we?" he stated to no one in particular as he gathered some things and looked over some monitors. "Still deeply asleep. Overall brain activity greatly reduced, though still not anywhere near normal levels. Her hippocampus is not nearly as active as before. Without a better knowledge of how the device works, I'd say we're looking at things wrapping up here. What's the time on this then? Twenty-three and a half hours?"

"Twenty-three hours and thirty-seven minutes," Rodney corrected, softly.

"Ok, then. Let's just wait and see now," Carson said brightly.

Dr. Keller was pointing out some observations she'd made to Beckett and they began to confer over her notes.

Rodney stood at her bedside, feeling helpless, watching her. She hadn't moved since he'd left hours before. She still looked serene. Lovely, actually, with her curls splayed out around her head among the wires and electrodes Carson had attached to her.

The twenty-four hour mark came and went. The device ceased its output, but Emily didn't wake. Hours went by and her brain activity returned to normal levels but she didn't wake. People came and went all morning to check on her: Radek, Daniel, Elizabeth, John, Teyla, even Ronon. They all tried to keep him company for a time, but he wasn't feeling talkative.

Carson insisted there was nothing wrong. She was just sleeping, a completely normal pattern of sleep with surprisingly long periods of REM and delta stages. Each time she drifted into lighter stages of sleep, Carson said she might wake, but she just cycled deeper again, not quite reaching the surface.

Morning stretched into afternoon and afternoon slowly rolled into evening. He felt like a caged animal. At least when he normally spent large amounts of time in the infirmary, he was recuperating from some mishap and got the good drugs that made time slip away. Now he was forced to prowl around the confines of this space without even a window to look out of, afraid to stray too far for fear of missing her waking. He was finding it hard to distract himself. Even work, which normally could capture his attention for hours, seemed tedious.

"Are you sure this isn't a coma?" he asked Carson late in the afternoon.

"I'm certain it's not. She's been through a trauma. She needs proper rest. You know as well as I do that this is something she does. It's theorized that memory is consolidated during sleep. It's bloody likely this is a normal part of the process. Don't fret, now. She's doing fine. There's absolutely nothing wrong with her. Just give her the time she needs."

"But doesn't she need to eat?" he asked, exasperated.

"Well, she's getting a limited amount of nutrition through the IV fluids she's receiving. When she wakes up though, she'll be hungry as a bear, I imagine," Carson said, chuckling. "I've taken the liberty of laying in some supplies against that eventuality."

"What about the morphine? Could that be making her sleep longer?"

"I tapered that off hours ago and replaced it with something far milder. I don't know if she's in any pain at this point, but I suspect it'll have been minimized after the device shut off. Try to be patient, Rodney," Carson said kindly, thumping him on the back.

John came in then, with a pack of cards, and Rodney reluctantly agreed to play. They set up a small table a short distance from her bed and spoke in low tones. Daniel and Radek eventually joined them. He had trouble keeping his mind on the game, but at least it made the time go by faster.

Teyla and Ronon brought down some trays of food and joined them at dinnertime. Ronon picked up a sandwich and took a bite, looking over John's shoulder at his hand of cards.

"You guys eat a lot of sandwiches around here, I've noticed," Daniel said with a quirk of an eyebrow. "Doesn't that get old?"

"A good turkey sandwich?" John said, skeptically. "Never."

Time marched on and still she slept. The others gradually went on to do other things. Radek stayed late, playing a few rounds of chess with him, beating him each time, though neither of them commented on it. Carson told him to go to bed and left himself, leaving Keller in charge again. Finally, Radek offered to stay so he could go get some sleep like he'd done the night before, but he refused, still hopeful she might wake soon. He knew she was out of danger now. There was no need to be so vigilant. But some part of him, a large part of him, actually, just wanted to be there when she woke.

He kept dozing off while trying to read a report. He swore under his breath at how uncomfortable he was, yet it wasn't enough to keep sleep at bay. He was thinking about going to make some coffee, maybe in the nurse's lounge, when the young doctor tried to strike up another conversation.

"It was awfully nice of your friends to bring you a meal and keep you company tonight," Dr. Keller observed from the other side of Emily's bed, quietly.

"Mm." He nodded.

"She must be nice. She's got a lot of people looking out for her. And you, too."

"She has her moments," he said, smiling slightly, mostly to himself, as he shifted in the horribly uncomfortable seat.

"You should just go to bed," the doctor said, frowning at him. "I'll call the minute she wakes—if she wakes. It's awfully quiet down here tonight. I'd bet good money she sleeps through until morning."

He shook his head. "You see, what you don't know is that she's full of surprises. She could do just about anything, really."

"And you really want to be here when she wakes up," Dr. Keller said, smiling wistfully.

"Yes, I do," he answered, feeling a bit silly.

"Why don't you just hop up on that bed behind you and take a catnap, then? I won't tell."

"No, no, I'm fine. I'll just read this report," he said, trying to focus on the laptop again.

"Please. You've been nodding off for the last two hours. It's painful to watch."

"So, don't. Shouldn't you be watching her?"

"There's nothing wrong with her. She's just sleeping. Textbook sleeping isn't much to see." She frowned, then seemed to come to a decision. "I'll be right back."

She came back moments later pushing a big office chair with a high back. "If you're going to sleep in a chair, you might as well be more comfortable. If you tell Dr. Beckett this was my idea, I'll deny it, just so you know," she said, flashing him a smile.

He stood up, perplexed, as she moved the chair he'd been sitting in out of the way, pushing the office chair into its place. "This is from Dr. Beckett's office," she said, raising her eyebrows. "Have a seat," she said, gesturing at the chair.

He complied, completely befuddled, as she grabbed a small case and put it down at his feet, then handed him a blanket and pillow.

"In a regular hospital, we would have those ugly, slick recliners for family members to sleep on, which isn't much, but at least it's something," she said, hands on hips, assessing his relative comfort.

"Thank you," he mumbled, looking up at her gratefully, not sure why she would do him this kindness. He self-consciously unfolded the blanket and put his feet up on the case, but left the pillow sitting on the bed behind him for now.

"I think it reclines," she said, pointing. "There's a lever on the side. Oh, and when Sleeping Beauty finally awakens? I expect to see a big kiss," she said, wiggling her eyebrows. Then she walked away.

When she was out of sight he pulled the blanket up to his chin and leaned back, whispering, "Thank God," to himself and shut his eyes.

* * *

It felt like moments later, someone was nudging him and whispering in his ear, "Dr. McKay? I'm not a sleep doctor, but I think she's about to wake up."

"Hm? What?" he said, sleepily.

"Dr. Freedman's been hovering in stage one and two sleep with some alpha intrusion for about forty minutes. I think she's waking up. Go on, now. I want to see that fairytale moment."

He opened his eyes, remembered where he was, and finally processed what Keller was saying. "Oh, really? Now? What time is it?" He shook himself a little and looked over at Emily. "She's not moving or anything."

"Go whisper her name," Keller urged.

He stood up self-consciously, rubbing his fingers together.

"Go on."

"Will you just—give me a minute? Carson kept thinking she was waking up all day yesterday. What makes you so sure she's waking up now?" he whispered at Keller, harshly.

"Will you just look at her?" Keller whispered back, exasperated.

He did. And saw that she was moving. Her eyes were still closed, but she was moving. "She's moving," he whispered. Then he felt it. Keller flicked him in the back of the head. "Ow! Geez!" he whispered and gave her a miserable, pained look before stepping up to the hospital bed.

He took her hand, bent over her, and said softly, "Emily?"

She shifted slightly, took a deep breath and groaned. Her eyelids fluttered against her cheek and her eyebrows pulled together in a frown before her eyes finally opened.

"Hey," he said to her, softly, trying to take in every minute detail of her expression.

Her face transformed. A bright smile came over her that seemed to touch even her eyes. "Hey," she said in return. "I missed you."

"I think I was the one doing the missing," he said, feeling the corner of his mouth turning up in a slight smile. "Do you have any idea how long you've been sleeping?"

"No. Was it long? God, I need to get out of this bed. I feel like one giant muscle cramp. And I'm starving." She was pushing herself up.

"Hold on," Keller said, pushing her back down and nodding to a nurse, "Go wake Dr. Beckett." She turned back to Emily, "Dr. Freedman, if you will just humor us for a few minutes? We need to run a few tests before we feed you, get the wires off and let you get up."

Emily made an annoyed face, but complied, looking down at herself. "Crap. I've got wires coming out of me everywhere. I guess I should be grateful there isn't a feeding tube." She gave Rodney a forlorn look that quickly morphed into a smile and then a giggle. "This is ridiculous," she said, feeling her hair. "Oh, God, how am I going to get this goo out of my hair?" She looked alarmed, then burst out laughing.

Keller looked concerned. "Is this a normal reaction for her?" she asked, pumping up a blood pressure cuff.

"Ah, yes," he answered, shaking his head, smiling himself.

She stopped laughing and said, "You kept the beard. I can't believe you did. I didn't think you would."

"I haven't had time to shave yet," he said.

"Oh, so you are going to shave it off?" she asked mournfully. "How long was I asleep? Come here. Why are you so far away?"

He gave Keller a menacing look that he hoped said, "Back off," and hovered a little closer to Emily, his eyes darting around, trying to determine who was there, watching. He could see Emily didn't care and he tried his best not to ruin the moment. Then she was touching his face and he really didn't care anymore. She was really spell-bindingly beautiful and she looked so incredibly happy. She pulled him closer, her fingers tangled in his jacket. He braced himself against the bed and kissed her, softly, sweetly, just for a few seconds, then pulled back a little. He could feel his mouth turning up on one side in a smile and she was beaming back at him. Then he noticed a tear escaping from one of her eyes and felt his expression go grave again.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his eyes scanning her face.

"Nothing," she said, shaking her head, still smiling. She released his jacket and dashed the tear away. "I'm just. . . this is crazy."

"Hm," he said, watching her, feeling unsure. Then he heard a lot of throat clearing and carrying on so he straightened up and said, "What?" in the most angry and annoyed manner he could manage.

Carson was standing there with Keller and they were both smiling like they shared some great secret. Carson said, his eyes wide, "Oh, nothing. It's just that we knew we had a Sleeping Beauty here in our ward and now we just found out we have a Prince Charming as well."

"Funny," he grit out and looked down at Emily who was giggling.

"It's the beard, isn't it?" she asked Carson. "He really should keep it for a while, don't you think?"

"I, for one, think a beard is very sexy," Carson said in his thickest brogue, rubbing his own stubbled chin thoughtfully, which sent Emily into fits of giggles.

"Can you just check her out? She's starving," Rodney barked.

"Just one wee moment, Emily."

They took some of her blood and scanned her again. Then Carson adjusted the bed so she could sit up and sent a nurse for the food he had set aside for her.

"Ok," Carson said, picking up a clipboard. "Time for just a few questions and then you can have a meal and a nurse will help you get the electrodes out of your hair, ok? I have a list of questions, compiled from your file, and from talking to Rodney and Dr. Jackson, alright?"

"You're testing my memory?" she asked, looking concerned for the first time.

"Aye. I should think you'd want to know how things have settled out?"

"Of course," she answered, looking nervously at Rodney and reaching out to grab his hand.

Carson went over the basics—her name, birthdate, birth place, mother's maiden name, grandparent's names and so on. She remembered these facts with minimal effort. Then he started asking more general questions about where she had gone to school, where she had met Daniel, what the SGC stood for, what was the first language she learned, the first foreign country she visited, the name of her dog. She looked pale and nervous but answered all the questions correctly with only a little effort or indecision.

He asked her questions about protocols she followed in her work, the subject of her dissertation, where Atlantis was located. He asked her to draw the gate address for Earth. He asked the date she had joined the SGC and the date she had travelled to Atlantis. She had more trouble with some of these questions. She faltered a couple of times, closed her eyes to think and looked to Rodney desperately, squeezing his hand, but was still able to come up with proper answers eventually.

"Can I take a break?" she asked finally. "I'd really like to eat something."

"Of course. Looks like you're right as rain. We'll do more later. We have these lovely things for you or you can wait for a breakfast tray." He placed a tray of sandwiches, salad and various other things like fruit cups and jello in front of her and walked away.

She picked up a sandwich and plucked at the wrapping. "One of the first times we talked, I gave you a sandwich." she said, softly.

"Yep. I remember. And some chips and a diet coke," he said, smiling. "I was smitten with you already by then."

"You were?" she breathed. "I don't think so," she said shaking her head, looking melancholy.

"Of course I was. What's wrong?" he asked, pushing her hair back from her face so he could see her expression.

"Nothing. It's. . . not easy to remember things and I feel. . . weird." She looked wounded, and he didn't know how to respond.

"Ok. I think you'll feel better after you eat something. I always do."

She nodded and took a bite of sandwich. She didn't say much then, just ate steadily, avoiding much eye contact from anyone. She kept placidly chewing as they removed the IV and the EEG electrodes from her face and hair. She scratched at her head, self-consciously, sending him a bewildered look.

The nurses shooed him away, setting up a divider for privacy while they did some other things to her. He hated to leave her because she looked so uncertain, but they insisted it was necessary. He glanced at his watch for the first time and realized it was nearly seven in the morning. She'd slept more than twenty-four hours after the device turned itself off.

He wandered over to Carson.

"When are you going to release her?" he asked.

"I'd like to watch her for another twenty-four hours, just to be sure she transitions smoothly. Her memory is intact, Rodney, but it's clear she's having some difficulty accessing information. I'm certain she's out of danger, but I'd like to run more tests and keep a close eye."

"She seems a little off. . . ."

Carson sighed. "She's been through quite an ordeal, Rodney, the likes of which I hope never to know personally, but I think she's coping remarkably well. Just coddle her a bit, ok? She deserves it."

The nurses were moving the divider away, so he went back to her bedside. "Do you feel better now? To have some food and get all the wires off?"

"Yes. Every last humiliation is gone," she said, curling up on her side and glancing at him. "The nurse said I've been asleep for most of the last forty-eight hours. How can I feel so tired now, if that's the case?"

"Carson says the brain uses sleep to process memory. This might be part of the reversal process."

"How many days do you think its been since I've had a shower?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe two or three. . . or four."

She made a face, indicating disgust.

"Do you want me to ask Carson if you can have one?"

"I'm too tired now. Maybe later. You should go, Rodney. Get some rest or go to work. They told me you've been here for days. I hate this. I hate that everyone's lives have been disrupted because I was so stubborn and weak. Even Radek. Neumann. Graden. It's ridiculous. Please, don't waste another minute worrying about me. I'm just going to sleep now. You don't need to be here."

"I want to be here."

"Well, I don't want you here," she spat out and he could see that she was crying.

He leaned on the bed and took her hand, trying to peer into her face, but she was hiding behind her hair. "You're upset. It's ok. You've been through something terrible. I understand that."

Oh, God—was he saying the wrong things? How could he know what to say to her about this? Couldn't she see he was trying his best?

"Please just go. I need to be by myself now. If you must. . . come back at lunchtime or something." She turned her head to look at him. "I'm sorry. I just need some time to think. I need some space." She pulled her hand out of his grasp and turned over to face away from him.

His stomach flipped over. He'd heard those kinds of words before and they didn't bode well. They were code for, 'I'm thinking about breaking up with you.' What had he done this time? Where had he gone wrong? Everything was great before she touched the device, wasn't it? What was the last thing that'd happened before the device took her memory? The tumors. Was this about that? Was she disappointed in him that he'd needed prodding to do the right thing? It'd been the middle of the night, for crying out loud. He hadn't been thinking straight. That couldn't be it, could it?

He walked around to the other side of the bed, but it was clear when he got there that she was already asleep again.

"Asleep again already?" Carson said from nearby.

"Yes," Rodney said absently.

"Can't say as I'm surprised."

He felt full of dread. "Carson, something's wrong—really wrong."

"What is it?" Carson asked skeptically.

"She told me she doesn't want me here." He turned slowly to look worriedly at Carson.

"What did you do?" Carson asked censoriously.

Rodney flinched. "Nothing. I swear! Nothing."

"I told you to coddle her, not upset her," Carson whispered harshly.

He shook his head slowly, mystified. "I know. I never got a chance."

"I'm sure it's just the fatigue talking. Let her rest. She seemed happy enough to see you when she woke."

"Yeah. You're right," he said nodding, but then looked to Carson for direction. "But what am I supposed to do?"

"Go. I'll call you when she wakes. It could be hours again."


	34. Chapter 34 dejudico decide

Emily felt a spurt of excitement. What was that? Another pottery fragment? Maybe Cypriot this time? She grabbed a brush, swept it over the protrusion, and sighed with frustration. No. Another false alarm. A cool breeze flounced her hair around her face and she breathed a sigh of relief. It was hot. She stood, arching her back, and took a drink of water. _Oh, crap_, there was a storm brewing in the west. She climbed out of the excavation pit and looked around for Dr. Niemeier or one of his team. The Tel Kabri site was vast and she couldn't see anyone in charge. She called to Hanson, "I'm going to get some tarps—look." She pointed to the west and the dark clouds that were approaching fast. He frowned, nodded, and went back to work.

She crossed to the central tents where crates of supplies were stacked up. Rodney was perched on one of the crates drinking a bottle of water. He appeared to be as dirty, dusty, and sweaty as she was. She stopped short. "What are you doing here?"

"What? The same as you," he said, looking mystified.

"Oh," she said, confused. "I didn't know you were interested in Middle Bronze Age, Minoan-style frescoes."

"Very funny." He didn't look amused. "Honestly, Emily, I don't know why you'd choose this kind of work. It's miserable. Manual labor in this heat? There's got to be a better way—some kind of technology that just detects the stuff in the ground and tells you where to dig."

"Well, there is, but—"

"We better have a ZedPM by the end of this or I'm going to be pissed." He gazed appreciatively at her, taking another swig of his water. "Mm. You're all sweaty."

She frowned in confusion and turned, but instead of seeing the dig site, she saw the remains of a city under siege—the destruction of a thriving, modern, technological civilization.

Earth. Their greatest fear was happening.

Rodney put his arms around her from behind and said, "How about we go get a shower? Hm?"

She jumped at the sound of gunfire. Rodney was nuzzling her neck like nothing was wrong. "Don't you hear that?" she gasped.

People were running and taking cover. There was a deafening blast nearby. She fell to her knees as the ground shook under her. She crouched, covering her head as dirt and debris pelted her.

She was running too. She saw Carson helping wounded and was torn. Should she take cover or help? Her panicked vision zoomed in on a hand, still moving, sticking out of a pile of rubble. She scrabbled to pull broken chunks of building materials off the victim concealed beneath, Rodney assisting her.

It was Dr. Keller.

She was injured, couldn't walk. Her lovely face was untouched. Rodney picked her up. Keller put her arms around his neck. Emily frowned, not liking how she was looking at him.

A menacing figure came up behind Rodney, shoving him and Keller to the ground.

Wraith.

Cold dread washed through her. She was frozen, rooted to the spot. It came inexorably closer, snarling like an animal. She looked desperately to Rodney for help.

He watched calmly, Keller planting kisses on his neck.

The Wraith shoved her against the remnant of a wall.

"You don't belong here," the Wraith growled.

It leisurely reached out a hand.

She screamed in wordless terror.

* * *

"Emily? It's ok. It's ok. It's just a dream, love."

She gasped and opened her eyes. Carson was reassuring her, gently pushing her back on the hospital bed and snapping up the side rail.

"A dream? Of course, of course it was," she mumbled, trying to slow her breathing.

"That must have been some dream. You nearly fell off the bed." He looked concerned.

"Oh, sorry," she said, groggily. "It was a Wraith, I think."

"A Wraith? But you've not had occasion to see one, have you?"

She took a deep breath and let it go, the images from the dream still playing out in her mind. She probed her scattered memories for the answer to his question. Had she? "No, no. Just pictures."

He nodded slowly. "How are you feeling?"

She thought about that for a moment. "Better, I guess. Hungry."

"I should think so. You've been out for, oh, about six hours this time. I'll give Rodney a buzz and he can come up for a visit, then, aye?"

"No." She held out a hand to detain him. "Please, leave him alone. I don't want to bother him."

Carson looked surprised. "Well, I hardly think he sees you as a bother. He asked me to call him when you wake."

"Well, I. . . . Please, just don't. Can I have something to write with?"

"Of course. I'll get you a laptop."

She shook her head. She needed something smaller, more tactile—something she could protect. "No, no, um, pen and paper, please? A notebook?"

Carson nodded at the nurse hovering nearby. "I'm sure we can scrounge something up. Did Rodney do something to upset you? You may not know this, but he's been worried sick about you and quite vigilant about staying nearby." He was frowning, looking worried.

"No, of course not. I know he has." She hesitated. She wasn't completely certain about what was real and what wasn't. "Dr. Watson and Dr. Hewston—how are they? No one was hurt, right?"

"They're fine. Released this morning to gate back to Earth for convalescence. There was no explosion. That was five days ago, love. You remember that night?"

"I. . . yes."

She remembered that night. Yes. But, disturbingly, from more than one point of view.

She'd known something had gone wrong with the transfer almost from the moment she woke. She just wasn't sure what had happened yet. The memories. . . she'd gotten more than she bargained for when they were returned to her. It was utter disorder, inside. She needed to sort it out somehow.

It was something about Rodney, that had startled her. A fleeting thought. Something in her mind's eye breaking through the mental disarray. The same thought she'd had that first day in the jumper bay, her hand stretched out to Dr. Weir. _He looks so incredibly young. _ Yet, aside from the beard, he hadn't changed at all from just a few days before. Upon the heels of that thought had raced many, many more until she could scarcely breathe. Until sleep was a welcome oblivion.

She couldn't tell them until she had a better understanding herself. There was one thing she felt pretty certain of, though. Carson was standing in front of her, alive, because she'd chosen to come to Atlantis—and he wasn't the only one. She'd preserved several lives by being here. That had to mean something in the grand scheme of things. She had to keep trying to remember that. It tipped the balance in her favor, didn't it?

A nurse brought a tray of food, a pen, and a spiral notebook. She gobbled down the food gratefully, then started writing, tentatively at first, then fervently, as bursts of memories sifted down into her conscious mind, one after another, and a disturbing picture began to form. Time passed quickly. She ignored her cramping fingers as script flowed relentlessly from the pen. Finally, she grew too weary to write another word and flipped back through the pages she'd written, astounded by how much she'd gotten down, when she saw Rodney sidling up to her, cautiously. She pushed the pen into the spiral of the notebook and shoved it out of sight, under the covers.

"Hey, how are you?" he asked, hesitantly.

Sleep was suddenly a compulsion. She was being drawn there without her conscious consent.

"Are you going to ask me that every time you see me?" she asked irritably.

"No. What do you want me to say?" he countered, looking hurt.

"I told Carson not to bother you." She sent a torpid glare around the room, but Carson was nowhere in sight.

Rodney pulled up a chair nearby. "Emily. . . what did I do? Tell me, and I'll fix it. . . ." he said softly.

She looked at him with dismay. He seemed desperately unhappy. "Oh, no—you think I'm mad at you?"

It might be easier if he thought that, she thought, miserably. But no—that wasn't fair and she wasn't going to take the easy way out, if it came to that. She needed time to think, anyway, before deciding what to do. She wasn't going to go burning bridges until she had a chance to think everything through.

"Aren't you?" he asked.

She fought for a semblance of alertness. "No. Of course not. You haven't done anything wrong. I'm so sorry, Rodney. I've been rude, haven't I? I'm all mixed up with all these memories and I. . . I just need time to sort everything out. It's a mess inside here, right now," she said, pointing to her temple and trying to smile, at least a little. Her eyes felt so heavy. She pulled the covers up and snuggled under them, trying to tell him, without saying anything, that it was time for him to go.

"Oh. Ok. Good." He looked relieved.

"It's not you. It's me," she said drowsily, her eyes drifting shut of their own accord.

"Very funny," he said, smirking at her. "That was a joke, right?"

* * *

The next time she woke it was night. The lights were dim. The nurse checked her vitals and fetched some food for her. She didn't waste much time eating and got back to writing down the memories as they came to her.

She really, desperately, wanted to forget them and maybe, hopefully, they would fade with time, but for now, at least, it was critical that she examine them and try to make some sense of it all. She had to choose a course of action.

She would not be a coward this time.

"Watcha doin'?" said a voice nearby, making her jump. It was Dr. Keller. She remembered that she met Keller for the first time when she'd stayed in the infirmary after the accident, the electric shock. Keller had also been present when she woke from the memory transfer. She was a lovely young woman.

"I'm just journaling the experience," she answered shyly, disconcerted. "Trying to make some sense of it."

"Sounds wise." Keller was nodding. "Want me to call Dr. McKay to come down for a visit while you're awake? He was pretty eager to see you last night. He tried to stay awake all night, waiting for you to wake up. It was very sweet. You make a cute couple."

"No. Don't wake him. He hasn't gotten much sleep since this whole thing started."

Keller smiled, her eyebrows raised. "I have to say, I didn't expect to find interstellar romances going on here when I signed on. Looks like cupid even comes to Pegasus, huh?"

"I guess so."

Keller furrowed her brow and looked her over. "You've been in that bed a long time. Are you feeling up to a short walk? I think it'd be a good idea."

Emily sighed. She was stiff and sore. She needed to keep working, but would like nothing more than to get off the bed and move around. "Ok. I think you might be right." She slid off the bed. Keller held her arm while she gained her footing.

"So, where did you meet Dr. McKay? Did you meet him here?" Keller handed her a thin blue bathrobe and Emily slipped it on, tucking the notebook in its large pocket.

"Yes." Why did she keep bringing him up? Was she attracted to him? She watched Keller closely as they started to walk toward the hallway, side by side.

Keller went on, "He's kind of a giant in his field, I guess, kind of notorious, around here, anyway. I was surprised to see him all tender and goo-goo eyed over you yesterday morning after the things I'd heard about him—especially after the first night." Keller smiled at her genuinely.

"The first night?"

Keller shook her head, eyebrows raised, like she was impressed. "Oh, I got a little too close to the memory stone for his comfort and he just about bit my head off. He's very protective of you. Looks like you found a keeper."

Emily nodded. Keller was just being nice, she decided. It was more food for thought. They walked for a bit and she asked Keller where she was from. Keller was a Midwestern girl, just like herself—down to Earth, easy to talk to. Her reaction to Keller was inexplicable. Was it curiosity, vanity, insecurity? Was she measuring herself against her or just being friendly?

Emily found herself opening up, telling her a bit about her upbringing. After the walk, Keller pulled up a chair and told her about being a reluctant child prodigy, pushed to skip grades, finishing high school by fifteen, college by eighteen and then going on to medical school.

They commiserated about overzealous parents, missed school dances, and not fitting in with kids their own age. They had a lot in common, even down to the loss of a parent. They talked for hours on topics ranging from childhood experiences, to the choice of coming to Atlantis, to the creature comforts they missed from home. She liked Keller and that made everything that much harder to understand.

"Dr. Freedman, you're wilting. Maybe it's time for more rest?" Keller suggested.

Emily stifled a yawn. "I think you might be right. It's really unbelievable how much sleep I seem to need right now."

"Well, it is what it is. Just get through it," Keller said, tucking the blankets around her gently in a maternal fashion—odd, since Keller was several years younger, at least.

"Thank you for being so kind and keeping me company, Dr. Keller," Emily said gratefully, her smile sincere, her thoughts in a ferment.

"Please, call me Jennifer. I should be thanking you. The night shift gets pretty long, most of the time. It's nice to have someone new to talk to."

* * *

Carson called Rodney down early the next morning to pick Emily up. She was being released. When he arrived, she was off the bed, finally, seated in a chair, putting on shoes with a pile of clothes on her lap.

"They're letting me leave," she said breathily, surprise and worry on her face.

He didn't know what to say. It didn't seem like she was ready to leave on so many levels. A nurse came up and had her sign something. Carson gave them a little wave from across the room and they were walking away. She was still dressed in white scrubs, clutching her clothes to her chest with one hand, looking pale.

"Do you remember where our quarters are?" he asked, when he realized she was following his lead.

"Will I be in trouble if I say no?" she smiled nervously.

He tried to cover his shock, but he knew he played it badly. "Of course not," he answered automatically, wondering what that might implicate, but knowing it was probably wrong to voice that.

"Carson said. . . I might have trouble remembering where things are, at least for a while. The hippocampus mediates spatial navigation in addition to processing memory for long term storage. Mine. . . may be fried—temporarily, anyway." She paused, her eyes darting at him worriedly. "I hope."

He nodded slowly. "I'm sure it'll be ok. Just give it some time."

Why couldn't she have been restored? Like she'd been from the electric shock? Like he'd been after the ascension accident? Because he'd been the one to fix those problems, not the Ancients. _Damn them._ Gone ten-thousand years and still failing people. If only he'd had more time. Three days just hadn't been enough. . . .

"How many missions have you missed because of me?" she asked tiredly.

"Ah, just one—and that was no loss, believe me. Lorne and his team came back covered with some very large leaches. Dodged a bullet with that one," he answered, attempting to grin.

She didn't reply, just continued to look pensive as they walked.

She opened the door before he could swipe the blue light and sank on a chair, letting the rumpled clothes fall to the floor. He sat down next to her. She looked. . . like she was suffering.

"Emily, I think it's understandable that you might not remember a few little things," he said gently.

"I know." Her eyes had gone glassy and tears started streaming down her face.

His throat worked, but nothing would come out. "Emily, tell me what's wrong," he finally said hoarsely.

He still had the sense that something had gone wrong between them, despite her reassurance the day before—and since he was terrible with relationships, the fact that he'd actually clued into it meant it was probably far worse than even he thought it was.

She shook her head, wiped the tears away, and straightened. "Nothing. I'm fine. You should go back to work. You must be going crazy with all of this." She was clutching that notebook and pen again, he noted.

"What's that?" he asked, hesitantly. "It's very analog. Want a laptop?" He tried to smile, but he didn't think he was very successful. He felt his lack of relationship acumen keenly and hoped his desperation would be enough to get him by.

"No, no. I'm just writing down some of the memories. I need to try to understand them. You should go get something done. You don't need to babysit me."

"Carson told me not to leave you alone. I can work from here."

That seemed to annoy her. She got up, taking the notebook with her. "I've got to do something that feels normal. I'm going to take a shower."

"Did Carson talk to you about going back to Earth. . . to recover?" he asked, hoping that might cheer her up.

She stopped in her tracks and turned, completely incensed. "So that's it, then? I've finally given Weir a reason to get rid of me? I didn't do this on purpose! I would give anything—anything—for this not to have happened." She sank back down on the chair and covered her anguished face with her hands. "How am I going to finish my work now?"

He put an arm around her. She was stiff and unyielding. She smelled of antiseptic and other hospital scents, not like herself at all, which was disturbing. He hated that smell. It went with bad things happening. It was only adding to his rising hysteria.

"Emily—it's not like that. This would just be short-term. Have you forgotten Elizabeth's apology?" She didn't respond, so he continued, "We thought it might be good for you. . . to see your family, relax for a couple of weeks. I would go with you. You have weeks and weeks of vacation accumulated, you know. I could maybe. . . meet your mom. We could go to Vancouver. You could meet Jeannie," he said hopefully. She still wasn't saying anything. "Or, we could just go to a beach or something. . . travel, if you want. . . ." He wasn't saying the right things, damn it. What should he say?

She was pressing her lips with her fingers, deep in thought, and she leaned against him a little. He felt a wave of relief, hoping that small gesture was a good sign.

"I need time," she said quietly, but firmly. "I have to think first. I can't go anywhere or do anything until I. . . have a chance to think."

"What do you need to think about? Tell me what's going on."

She looked stonily at the cover of the notebook in her hands. "There are important things, Rodney. I've remembered things I didn't before. I have to take the time to understand what it means. Please, don't rush me. Let me do what I need to do."

"Like what? I don't understand," he prodded. "I—I can't help you if I don't know."

Her sad brown eyes were evaluating him. She looked so haunted. He needed to reassure her somehow.

He captured her hand and held it. It looked so small and delicate compared to his meaty hands. Slowly, gently, he drew his thumb over the back of her hand, to remind her of what they'd been aiming toward before. It might seem like a small gesture to someone else, who didn't know what they knew. To him, it felt like. . . a commitment. But more important than that, it felt easy, natural. Right. The future version of him had given him something. A gift he could give her without saying anything.

At first, she didn't seem to notice, but then her breath caught and she went ridged again. Her eyes sought his and. . . she knew what he was trying to tell her. "Oh, God, Rodney?" she whispered, her voice husky with emotion. Her heart. . . was in her eyes. He leaned down to kiss her, but she ducked her head and spoke.

"For now, I'll just tell you this because it—" She cut herself off and sighed. "It's the device from Earth. I've remembered more of what it showed me. I'm remembering conversations I had with you and Carson from the future timeline. . . about Atlantis."

His eyes flared. "Oh, that's. . . ."

"Intense. Scary. Overwhelming?"

"Like what? You know what happens. . . ?"

"Some of it. Some of it's already happened. I only know what you both told me."

"Ok. Like what?"

She looked reluctant for a long moment, but then her expression softened and she gazed at him longingly. His heart surged in his chest.

"I can. . . tell you how we met. In the future timeline."

"Really? You remember it now?" His curiosity was piqued. Since Daniel told her the device was real, he'd been wondering about that future timeline. She'd told him everything she could remember, but it left him hungry for more details.

"Yes." She looked down and smiled a secretive-looking smile. "Carson was working at the SGC and we became close friends. One day he told me someone was coming to town for a visit, someone he wanted me to meet. He asked me to meet them for dinner at Tony's in Colorado Springs. He'd tried fixing me up before and it never worked out. I had kids. I had to be careful. I considered saying no, but this time his eyes were twinkling or something, so I humored him. So, we met over Tony's lasagna. I had mushroom and you had beef." She shrugged and smiled weakly.

"So, ah, did you like me?"

"Like would be an understatement. We were laughing and talking, barely acknowledging that Carson was there. He got a phone call saying he had a medical emergency he had to attend to and left us alone. We hardly noticed he left. We hit it off from the first."

He shook his head and smirked. "Hm. Sounds like Carson was playing matchmaker."

"Oh, yes. He took to that role in his later years. He'd found the great love of his life and thought everyone else should be so happy. So, we sat there in the restaurant talking until they kicked us out because it was so late. Then we stood in the parking lot for a while, still talking, and I just. . . didn't want to say goodnight. I knew you were only in town for a short visit, so I asked you if you wanted to come back to my place for after-dinner drinks. It was silly because I'd been the only one drinking all night, but I couldn't think of anything better. I'd had most of a bottle of wine. You were just drinking water. But it didn't matter because you agreed."

"Sounds like me. Gotta keep the head clear."

She nodded and smiled again. "So we went back to my house. My children were grown by that point. The youngest was away at college. The rest had moved away, but they'd left their mark on the home and you picked up on that right away. We were talking about classified things by then. You were worried one of them might come home and overhear us." She smiled at him tremulously.

"So I made us some drinks. Yours was watered down, per your request, and mine was a double because I was nervous. I was. . . drawn to you. It wasn't something I'd really experienced before and I didn't know what to do. Fifty-nine years old and never learned how to flirt properly. I was a wreck. I gulped down my drink and jumped up to make another one and, ah," she snorted with amusement, "I bumped your knee. You spilled your drink. I grabbed a towel and was mopping you up. It was like a bad sitcom. We both were just fumbling and stuttering like we do. . . and then I kissed you."

"You kissed me? Huh." He raised his eyebrows and smiled.

She snorted again, softly. "One thing led to another, you know, and it sort of happened a lot like our first night together, except when. . . your hand went under my shirt, I didn't freak out—I impatiently moved your hand where I wanted it to go. . . ."

"You did? You vixen. What did I say to that?" He found himself beaming at her. He liked the sound of the way this would have gone.

"You said, 'Oh. Really? Ok,' and sort of enthusiastically got back to it."

She giggled a little.

Oh, God, he didn't realize how much he'd missed that giggle.

"And, um, you spent the night and we never spent another night apart after that. It was sort of the same. . . intense thing."

"That's. . . amazing. You remember all of that?" He rubbed her back, watching her, wondering—if she'd chosen to share this. . . didn't that mean things were ok?

"All of it," she said, looking down at her lap, her expression clouded again.

"But isn't that a happy memory? Why do you look so sad?"

"Yes. It's a happy memory. All the memories of you are happy ones. But there's so much more than that. I know. . . too much and it's. . . scary. It's disturbing."

"But aren't these just the dreams you didn't remember before?"

"No. It's more than that, Rodney." She was struggling now, not to cry, and he squeezed her closer, feeling woefully inadequate again. "I know what's going to happen here. What was supposed to happen just days ago and it's terrifying. I changed it—all by myself. I. . . changed it so that people who were supposed to die, lived." Tears were running down her cheeks again. "Carson. . . he and several other people were supposed to die on Sunday, the mandatory rest day. You were supposed to go back to bed that night and the tumors both exploded, killing people—including Carson. It was a terrible, defining moment in your life that you always regretted. It changed you forever. You. . . shed tears for Carson when you told me about it."

"Oh, God, that's just. . . ." he trailed off, looking at her. She looked earnest and insistent. What she was saying was awful and he was glad he hadn't had to live that. But something didn't add up. "But wait, you just said Carson was your friend in the future." He furrowed his brow with worry, scanning her face.

She sighed deeply, looking back at the ceiling. "Yes, well, the Wraith you called Michael has a surprise in store. He cloned Carson. The Carson we know would have died. The Carson I knew in the future timeline was his clone. You'll find him sometime in the next year or two, I think."

He found himself shaking his head. "That doesn't sound possible, Emily," he said without thinking and immediately regretted it.

She was irritated again, withdrawing. "Ok, then, don't believe me. Daniel said the Dartaran device was real. I have to assume that if I'd never come here, all this would have played out the way the device showed me. If you'll let me, I may be able to save more lives—lives of people that are important to you, Rodney. If you won't believe me, then all of this will be meaningless. I will have suffered for nothing," she finished flatly and rose again, heading for the bedroom.

_Oh, no._ He had to fix this somehow, before it got out of hand. "Emily, wait. I didn't say I don't believe you. It's just—"

"Hard to wrap your head around? Tell me about it," she spat out and moments later he heard water running in the bathroom.

Why was he such an ass? If he'd just thought for a second, he could have said something gentler. He knew she was upset. Why was he stupid enough to make it worse? Especially when he knew he was standing on less than solid ground.

She'd just shared something that was. . . well, nothing short of wonderful. She'd looked happy, briefly anyway, recounting the story of meeting him. He smiled. He did love Tony's lasagna.

Yet, the rest of it was worrisome. He didn't doubt that she'd saved lives on Sunday—he was already pretty sure of that. He wouldn't have looked at that device until morning and if he was really honest with himself, maybe not even then. For that to lead to anyone's death. . . .

After Arcturis he'd sworn to himself he wouldn't let something like that happen again, but clearly his hubris had failed him again. But Carson? That was just cruel. She was right. Something that harsh would break some part of him.

A clone of Carson? It just sounded so far-fetched and he started to really worry. What if the carcaerum device had injured her somehow? What if this was all some kind of delusion? That might mean none of it was real. He had no way whatsoever to tell. She could say anything and he would have no way to verify it, except to wait and see if it happened.

He leaned back, thinking through what she'd said. They'd left Michael on a planet he should never have been able to escape from and yet he had somehow. He was definitely resourceful. Could Michael be a doctor or a scientist himself? He'd never given much thought to whether the Wraith had occupations. Cloning could be an efficient way for them to reproduce the masked warrior drones that all looked the same and seemed to be so expendable. They didn't know anything about Wraith reproduction. Their physiology was so different. For all he knew, cloning could be a technology that they'd perfected, used extensively. But why would Michael have cloned Carson? He frowned. Some kind of revenge, probably. That was disturbing.

If Emily really knew what was going to happen, that could give them a real advantage, at least in the short term, until the timeline became so changed it wouldn't matter anymore. The details would be scarce though, if all they had to go on were second-hand accounts. But, if he'd told her accurately, which of course he would have, and she could remember it now, it could be incredibly helpful. She seemed to realize that and was taking it seriously. It explained her behavior, he thought, rubbing his fingers together nervously. But he couldn't let go of the notion that there was something else she wasn't saying.

He sat lost in thought, considering the ramifications there might be for changing the timeline. She'd already made changes and been successful. Older ideas in physics suggested that shouldn't be possible. But quantum theory posited that another alternate universe bubble could have split off at the moment she touched the device on Earth and started to make changes. In this new universe/timeline he and Emily met sooner and Carson lived past Sunday. She said other people he cared about were about to be in jeopardy, too. He really needed to know more about that. If that was real, they had to find a way to make sure that didn't happen.

Suddenly he realized the water had shut off some time before, yet she hadn't come out of the bedroom. He got up to check on her and found her lying on the bed wearing her bathrobe with a towel wrapped around her hair—the pen in one hand and the notebook in the other—sleeping. He eyed the notebook, feeling the urge to read what she'd written. If he did it right, she'd never know, and he might be able to put his mind at ease about whether these were delusional fantasies or future truths.

He resisted. It would break her trust. It was a risk he couldn't take with things so tenuous. It was clear she didn't want anyone to see the notebook, the way she kept it hidden. Instead, he picked up a blanket, covered her, and left her alone to sleep.

Emily came out of the bedroom a few of hours later, dressed, her hair still damp. He was doing some work on a laptop, working on a prototype hyperspace generator for the puddle jumpers, an idea he'd dreamed up while under the influence of the ascension device. He looked up when she came in, but she didn't say a word—just sat down opposite him and started writing in the notebook. She sat there for hours, scribbling things down, thumbing back and forth in the notebook.

He kept eyeing her furtively. She was frowning, making marks on torn-out pages and writing furiously. She was organizing something. He thought about interrupting her, asking, but decided against it. She would explain when she was ready, he hoped.

Abruptly, she spoke, "Rodney, I can prove it to you. I can tell you something he told me then, that you haven't told me now. Something private."

"Emily, you don't have to—" he started to reassure her, but she cut him off.

"I do. You know I do." She didn't sound angry. She sounded resolute. She looked down at the notebook, frowning, then pointedly back at him. "When you were dying, after the ascension accident, Dr. Weir said these words to you: 'Rodney, you are a good person. Know that we love you.'" She paused, watching him intensely. "You've never told me that. We've never talked about it and you must know your friends would never have occasion to repeat that to me. But he—he was touched by that sentiment and when he told me, the other me, about Weir and the kind of person she'd been, he told me those words."

He nodded slowly, thinking. She was brilliant. Of course she would think of a way to prove it to him. "Ok, Emily, I get it. I won't doubt you. I was, ah, apparently very talkative in the future, huh?"

She snorted and smiled slightly. "Not so different from now, really. Just a couple of weeks ago you told me about some of your adventures here in Pegasus. This isn't that different. It just happens to be mostly stuff that hasn't happened yet. Before, I'd hoped never to have to tell people about my experience with the device. I have to let go of that childish notion. I can't pretend I don't know. There are lives at stake. The city itself is at stake. Things are going to be happening soon, dangerous things. We have to convince Dr. Weir to take this seriously—between you, Daniel, and myself, we can do that. Then, we can minimize the impact. Daniel hasn't left yet, has he?" She frowned, her persuasive self-possession slipping slightly into confusion. "I don't know what day it is."

He sighed. Why did Daniel always have to play a role? "He's due to leave tomorrow, Emily."

She nodded, her demeanor steadfast again. "I need to talk to him. Will you take me to him?"

He leaned forward, "I gave him your message, Emily."

"I know you did. This is something else."

"You aren't going to tell me now?"

"No. Please, be patient. I know that's hard for you. I know you don't understand. I'm sorry, but I won't be rushed. I need to talk to Daniel about something first. Maybe you could talk to Dr. Weir? Explain things and set up a conference for tomorrow morning? I can be prepared to present our most pressing concerns by then. The sooner the better. We'll need time to plan." She rubbed her eyes. "If I can just stay awake long enough," she said, clearly frustrated. "As for the meeting, it should be you and Radek, Carson, John, and Weir. Daniel, if he can stay that long. I'll tell you all at the same time. There's a lot to say. I don't want to waste precious time repeating it over and over." She leaned back and closed her eyes. "I've never been more in need of coffee than I am right now."


	35. Chapter 35 fatum destiny

Emily sat with Daniel on a balcony, overlooking the water, picking at a lunch tray and drinking as much coffee as she could manage. She'd brought three large mugs with her. It'd taken some talking to convince Rodney to leave her alone with Daniel. But her stubbornness won out. Daniel was being kind, pretending nothing was different. He just watched her with curious eyes.

"The device on Earth, Daniel, was called the Dartaran device." She shot him a comical look. "That's the best I can do at pronouncing it, actually. It was left as a gift for explorers who might one day visit their original home world. They left that world millions of ago, I think, to find a new home with better resources for their growing and evolving population. They weren't human. To my knowledge we haven't encountered their race before. Their physiology was very different and that was bad news for me and the others exposed to the device."

Daniel picked up a cookie and took a bite. "What makes you say that?"

"It doesn't work properly on us. Not the way they intended, anyway. They don't, or didn't, mate like we do." She shifted uncomfortably, glancing at him. "They were focused on productivity—that was the highest virtue in their culture. They didn't form pair-bonds like we do, they formed working relationships—collaborations—with multiple partners. Finding the people with whom an individual could most productively collaborate was critical to them. They also lived immensely long lives—hundreds of years, I think—maybe more, maybe millennia."

She stirred the second cup of coffee and brought it to her lips, frowning, because it was already lukewarm. "I'm surprised to report the device's intent wasn't to predict the future. It was intended to guide their youth toward finding these most productive relationships as early as possible. They saw youth as a waste of time and the device was intended to jump start the career of an individual so they wouldn't flounder for years finding direction, like a thirty-year-old child still living in his parent's basement. It was meant to gently guide them toward their most productive path."

Daniel looked intrigued. He sat cross-legged on the floor of the balcony with his elbows on his knees, his fingers steepled in front of his face. "It told you all this, but you're just now remembering it?"

"Yes. That got lost in the shuffle the first time. I'm not sure why. Maybe the species incompatibility?" She paused, trying to think of how to explain it. "Seeing those memories again, I was able to digest them. The carcaerum device fed them to me just like the rest of my memory—the device didn't know there was a difference between them and the rest of my memory. Because of that, I'm able to see it all now. I couldn't comprehend it the first time. It was too much, too fast, and it couldn't be processed to my conscious mind and wasn't supposed to be. It was all just filed away and my subconscious started to use it to inform me—using some kind of imprint from the device. I'm pretty sure it was meant to work that way. You're not meant to keep these future memories as your own. It feels. . . really foreign and strange to have them there. Things I haven't done, will obviously never do. . . ." She trailed off and looked down self-consciously, actively trying not to think about the incredibly private moments between them that were coming so easily to mind right now—moments they would never actually share.

He raised his eyebrows, then looked away.

She shook her head. "I think the device has been affecting me in a lot of different ways. For example, I've always been driven. You know that. But, I think it's been pushing me to work longer hours, even to the exclusion of food and sleep. It's been gradually forcing me to adopt some kind of extreme standard, impossible for a human to achieve."

"So the way you were pushing yourself before the accident. . . ."

"Wasn't an aberration, it was gradually becoming my new normal. You'll need to have someone check on those scientists at area 51, when you get back—see if anything can be done for them."

"Of course. Do you think it's still affecting you?"

"No. That's gone, I think, since the wipe."

He nodded solemnly. "Good. That's good."

"I've been recording the memories as best I can. Here." She indicated the notebook laying in her lap. "My best guess is that it latched onto the people I met from Atlantis and pushed me to join them sooner as people that would be best for me to collaborate with. I think it was pushing me away from you because our collaboration was short-lived. I spent many more years as close friends with Carson and in my relationship with Rodney. I don't know that it ever placed any value on the actual feelings I felt toward anyone at all. It may have been that it just showed me so many emotional moments because they were pivotal to my decision-making process. Only my own mind would be able to pick which moments would be best able to do that."

He narrowed his eyes at her, pursing his lips. "So what does all this mean, Em?"

"Personal hell for me." She gulped down more coffee and noted her fingers were shaking. She frowned and tried to conceal it.

He looked concerned. "Why?"

She pushed the lunch tray aside and pulled her knees up to her chin. "For one thing, I know what's about to happen here. All hell is about to break loose here, Daniel. I can remember now—conversations with Rodney and Carson that I had in that timeline."

He nodded slowly, acknowledging her inner struggle. "You'll try to change it?"

She looked at him incredulously. "Of course I will. I can't just watch while people die, Daniel." She told him about the mandatory rest day and the lives she had saved, no doubt the device having played some role in that.

"But that's not all, is it?" he asked cautiously.

He was too perceptive. She couldn't hide it from him. She looked out to sea, tears blurring her vision. She forced a note of resolve into her voice. "Daniel, that job you said would still be waiting for me at the SGC—you meant that, right?"

"Of course." He looked mystified. "But you're ok, right? You recovered your memories. You can stay and finish your work here."

She shook her head stiffly and said, evenly, "I shouldn't have come to Atlantis. It was selfish."

He touched her knee with a few fingertips. "But you did come and look at the good you can do here. I don't see the negative, Em," he said gently.

She grit her teeth and lifted her chin. No more tears. Maybe he could help her make sense of it. After everything he'd done, seen, been through—his perspective might help her make a decision she could live with. "I stole something from Rodney that wasn't mine to take, Daniel."

"What do you mean?"

She gulped down more coffee. She had to fight the fatigue so she had time to think. _Stay dispassionate, Em._ "There's a relationship waiting for him here. Something, someone truly special. She. . . in the future, he was a widower, like me." She met his eyes and shrugged, helplessly. It was a strange way to speak to him. This whole thing was incredibly bizarre. "He loved her desperately—would have done anything to hang on to her. He loved me too, of course, after he'd mourned her for years. But, I. . . . Dammit, Daniel, it doesn't seem right to keep that from him! I honestly didn't know. I wouldn't have come, if I'd known about it. The device or my damned subconscious or whatever obviously didn't consider that to be important when it was influencing me to find him sooner. It doesn't see our relationships the way we do." She glanced at him, hoping her voice and demeanor didn't portray the desperation she was feeling.

He looked serious, thoughtful. "You're thinking of leaving so this can still happen for him?"

"Yes," she said softly, putting her forehead down on her knees.

"That's a mistake, Em," he said firmly.

She looked up with surprise. She hadn't expected him to say that. "Why?"

He was shaking his head. "You have to quit thinking that the future is set in stone. It's plastic, Em—you should know that. Look at how easily you've changed things so far. If you leave now, there's no reason to believe it'll still happen that way."

"It might," she countered, miserably.

"Doubtful. You're underestimating his feelings for you. He's not going to let you go without a fight. Look at what you just went through."

"I wasn't supposed to be here. This wasn't supposed to be this way," she said plaintively.

"Supposed to? That's meaningless. I don't think you've thought this through, Em. You just said Carson was 'supposed to' die last week. I don't think you're going to murder him now so that happens—because it wasn't supposed to happen—it just did." He paused a moment, clearly letting that sink in. "Think about what you're saying. You've just said you're going to try to change events for the better. You've made the best choices you could with the information you had at any given moment. What makes you less deserving of finding comfort with Rodney than this other woman? Don't sell yourself so short."

His argument made sense. "But I. . . what about her—what will happen to her?"

He crept a little closer and spoke in earnest. "She's responsible for her own fate. I suspect she'll be just fine. Whatever happens will be different from what you saw but it doesn't change in value. It doesn't make it more right or wrong—just different, as long as your intentions are good. Let's say you do make this sacrifice in order to set things the way you think they should be and lets hypothetically say you're successful, which I find doubtful. What exactly do you think you're going to do now? Be realistic, Em. You're very young. Are you going to live the rest of your life as a nun on Earth? Because any other relationship you enter into now is going to change someone's future—you just don't know what those consequences will be. Does that make it more right—just because you don't know, can't predict the outcome?"

She frowned. She hadn't thought that through. There was no future possible with Daniel. If she went back to Earth now it would be a long twenty-five years—actually twenty-eight, to be exact. If she broke it off with Rodney now, there was no guarantee he'd come back to her then. He might hate her for leaving. Something else in the timeline could change as well due to all the alterations she was making, had already made. Living the rest of her life alone, knowing how joyful being with him had been? It sounded so bleak.

"Not knowing what happens next is part of our existence, Em. What you've been given is hard to understand because we aren't meant to have this kind of knowledge. My advice is this—just take what you can from it, do the best you can with it, and throw the rest away without dwelling on it. That way lies madness."

She nodded and sipped at her coffee, thoughts tumbling over themselves in her head.

He smiled kindly. "I honestly don't know what you see in McKay, but I can see he makes you incredibly happy. It would be foolish to throw that away. Let yourself live without guilt, Em. Don't think about what should be. Just do your best with what you have."

He was letting her off the hook, giving her permission to be who she really wanted to be. He was the wisest man she knew and she had to acknowledge that his advice was logical. She began to feel hopeful that maybe everything would be ok. She suppressed a yawn. "Should I. . . tell him about this?"

He considered that for a moment. "What purpose would that serve? How could that help? I don't think that would build any trust between you. Just let it go, Em."

Could that be right? It seemed dishonest. Yet, if she told him, wouldn't he always wonder? Wasn't it bad enough that she would?

She tapped her forehead. Her thoughts were starting to slow. It was time to wrap this up. "Will you help me convince Dr. Weir and the others—about the device? Based on Rodney's reaction so far. . . it isn't going to be easy. You can tell them about the documentation of the device at Area 51. Can you stay through the morning, tomorrow, for this meeting?"

He nodded. "I think I'll need to brief Jack and Landry on these things, don't you? I can stay a few more hours for that."

She nodded, sighing with fatigue. "Good."

She leaned back against the building, closing her eyes to think about the things Daniel had said. Moments later, Daniel jostled her gently.

"Rodney is coming to take you back to your quarters so you can rest. I offered to take you, but he said he was nearby."

She felt disoriented, groggy. "What happened?"

"You fell asleep, Em."

"Crap. The coffee isn't working." She reached for a mug and took a sip, but it was cold and bitter now.

"Maybe you should give this a few more days."

"We don't have the luxury of time. Not for what is going to be necessary to make sure we make it through the next few months without any fatalities—if we can even do that. I've got to push through this." She sat up and gathered her things to take them back to the mess hall. She could see Rodney coming through the glass. "I just wish there was more time to think."

"I'll take care of that," Daniel insisted, gesturing at the remains of their meal. He smiled sadly. "Don't minimize what you have. If I could somehow have held onto Sha're. . . ."

She felt a stab of guilt. "I get it, Daniel."

Rodney was opening the door and frowning down at them.

She got to her feet, swaying a bit, and reached out to the low wall behind her to steady herself. "Ok. I'm ready to go back." Rodney nodded, looking serious. She followed him, calling out to Daniel before the door closed behind them, "I'll see you tomorrow morning."

They fell into step. "Coffee isn't helping," she commented.

"Hm," he replied, looking concerned.

"I'll ask Carson if a nurse can stay with me when I go back for more tests later this afternoon. If that can't be arranged, I'll go back to the infirmary for a few days until I can get a handle on this or he thinks it's safe for me to be alone."

"Emily," he protested. "I—"

She sighed heavily, not wanting to argue with him. "Look, Rodney, I'm glad you want to watch over me, but after tomorrow, you're going to have your hands full. Better enjoy these next few hours, ok? It's going to get rough, once you know. You're going to be busy."

"I. . . ok, ok," he conceded, looking disconcerted. "I set up the meeting like you asked."

She didn't reply, just tiredly plodded on, sleep pushing at her mercilessly. She stumbled over her own feet and nearly fell. He caught her elbow and looked upset.

"I'm ok," she mumbled. "Is it much farther?"

"No," he answered gruffly. "We're almost to the transporter."

He kept ahold of her arm and she leaned on him a little, her tired mind still mulling over Daniel's advice—her own circular logic escaping her now.

She looked up at him. "How are you feeling? Have you gotten much rest lately? You're going to need to be well-rested, you know. Do you want to take a nap with me?"

He looked surprised. The corner of his mouth turned up. "I could do with a power nap," he said quietly, his eyes darting over her face.

She sent him an impish smile. He was silent and pensive until they reached their quarters. Once inside, she pulled off her clothes and found the soft t-shirt and boxers she liked to wear. She pulled them on and turned to see him stoically watching her as she climbed into bed. The pillow felt like a piece of heaven. The sheet, a soft caress.

She blinked at him from under drooping lids. "Aren't you coming?"

He didn't speak, just stripped down to t-shirt and boxers and laid down on his side of the bed, worried eyes watching. She sluggishly dragged herself closer and he knew. He closed the gap.

"Mm," she murmured, curling into him, breathing in his masculine scent, letting her heavy lids finally fall shut. "Thank God for Daniel Jackson to talk some sense into me and relieve me of my wretched ideas of fate and entitlement. You're so warm. You feel good." She sleepily peeked up at him. His eyes were boring into hers. She frowned and touched his face. "You shaved the beard. How could I not have noticed that? I'm so disappointed."

She kissed him tenderly. _Not a mistake,_ she thought drowsily, _long overdue._ He gathered her closer, his hands roaming over her back restlessly. It felt delicious and dreamy. She didn't want him to stop. She was already half asleep.

"This is. . . to be continued," she mumbled into his chest, unable to crack her eyelids again. "I'm sorry. I want to. . . I just can't. . . stay awake." She hesitated, afraid she wouldn't remember later, knowing he would. "You'll need to find the yellow packets. I haven't taken the pills in days and days, ok?" She thought she felt him nod. His heart was pounding, she noted faintly, as she drifted off into the ether.


	36. Chapter 36 mutare change

Emily leaned against the wall outside the large conference room, arms crossed, head down, focused on calming her frenetic thoughts. She wasn't sleepy now—quite the opposite. She felt highly strung, pulled thin and taut, her breath coming fast, her heart racing and skipping beats. Carson had reluctantly given her a stimulant to help her get through the morning.

She was waiting for Rodney and Daniel to finish preparing Weir and the others to hear what she had to say. She should be in there now, but Rodney had insisted over breakfast that she should be spared the worst of their initial skepticism. It was sweet, but misguided. He was trying to protect her. This time she let him, because he'd been so upset earlier that morning.

Her sleep/wake cycle was completely disrupted. Besides sleeping large chunks throughout the day, she was waking at night. She'd awoken at three that morning and wandered their quarters aimlessly, her mind churning with thoughts of the future she thought she knew for certain and the future she hoped to change, hoped to make safer for everyone. She ended up on the balcony watching the dawn with her bathrobe wound tightly around her against the chill.

She was pulled from her musings by Rodney frantically calling her name.

She went back inside. "Rodney, what's wrong?"

"Oh God, there you are. I was about to go looking for you," he said hoarsely. He pulled her into a tight embrace. "I woke up and you weren't there."

"I was just watching the sun rise," she said softly. He was holding on so tight. He must think she was cracking up or worse. "I'm ok, Rodney. I'm just not sleepy right now."

"Come back to bed," he said, pulling her arm.

She reluctantly crawled back in with him. He spooned her against him and promptly fell back to sleep. She laid there, frustration mounting. She was awake so little, she was not going to accept being trapped in the dark. She slowly extricated herself from him and dressed. She thought about the day ahead and realized she was probably going to start feeling sleepy again right about the time the meeting was supposed to start. She should go to the infirmary, get her morning examination, and ask for some kind of stimulant. It would be an efficient use of time, she convinced herself. She wrote a couple of notes for Rodney, so he wouldn't panic if he woke again and found her gone.

She left then, sure she knew exactly where the infirmary was. She'd been back and forth from there several times with Rodney over the last day. It was just down this corridor, then into the transporter where she would click on the central tower and then another short corridor. But when she left the transporter, things weren't as she thought they'd be.

She wandered the halls a bit and couldn't find the infirmary. She managed to retrace her steps back to the transporter and decided she must be on the wrong level, so she tried the next level below which was a maze of hallways and small rooms, none of which was the infirmary. Then she couldn't find the transporter again.

She started to get anxious until she found a set of stairs. She took another level down and explored that level. It was so early, she hadn't encountered anyone roaming the halls yet. She was lost. Her only option was to call the control room and beg for help. Stubbornly, she didn't want to do that, yet she doubted she'd find her way to the infirmary or back to her quarters again on her own.

She thought she caught a glimpse of something familiar down a hallway, so she turned that way and stumbled upon her lab. She went inside, turned on the lights and sank into the chair at her desk, gratefully touching her things, familiar things. The last time she'd been there, they'd all seemed foreign to her. Some of these things seemed out of place, though. It seemed like they belonged on another desk, a galaxy away. . . .

She couldn't ignore it anymore. She closed her eyes, laid her head on folded arms, and acknowledged for the first time since she awoke to the mental chaos: she was forever changed. There was no way to go back to the way she was before. She allowed a single tear to fall—for everything that was lost and regained and everything that had changed inside her during that short transition.

No one could possibly comprehend what had happened to her based on what she'd told them so far, but they'd have an inkling soon enough.

Being wiped of her memories had been an ordeal, a difficult three days that she'd handled fairly well. Then the memories were replaced. They were reordered, shuffled, not always where she thought she'd left them. It left her feeling like she was poking around in a cluttered house, perpetually looking for lost keys. That was bearable. She could live with it, adapt, and eventually she thought it wouldn't even be an issue anymore. Navigation was a problem, hopefully temporarily, but if she would just be sensible, unlike today, she could manage.

No, the real problem was that she had a lifetime of memories that didn't belong to her stuffed inside her head along with everything else.

She'd been married and widowed. She had children she could never see again—grown children and their children as well. That was painful. She watched her mother die. She finally found true love at the crux in life where middle age tapered into old age—loved him fiercely and they lived happily together for many years.

She watched him struggle with aging. Not because he was losing his most valuable asset. That was never an issue. It was watching his ambitious projects get passed over, the funding given to younger scientists because the investors didn't believe he could possibly live long enough to complete them. Of course, he would prove them wrong, she thought with a rueful smile.

He'd left the umbrella of the SGC so he could leave his mark on his field. It'd been so important to him to do that. But he found the return to academia alternately fulfilling and infuriating. He hadn't been prepared for the politics and the funding issues, but he adored his graduate fellows more than he let on. He kept them inspired and always on the verge of leaving his small group.

She retired, content to putter around the garden, do some consulting work, catch up on reading, and cook him elaborate, nutritious meals which he both praised and complained about, depending on the day. She chuckled, remembering how she made him his favorite brownie when they'd had one of their infrequent disagreements, to sweeten the bitter pill of admitting he'd been wrong.

He kept going, this giant of a man, brilliant and irascible, until one day his large heart was done and he left their earthly sphere as well, leaving her alone once more. Her own heart throbbed painfully to remember. But she would do it all again, eagerly, if he would let her, she knew.

Rodney and Daniel probably thought she meant she had a spattering of memories, like scenes in a play or movie—the condensed important moments of a lifetime. They would figure it out when she could recount every conversation she'd ever had with Rodney and Carson regarding Atlantis and their time here. And then what? How was this going to change everything? It wasn't just about her and Rodney and Daniel anymore. It wasn't vague dreams. She'd been happy performing a minor, supportive role in the quest for knowledge and understanding. But, her role in the future of this place, even of the SGC, was now, by force, something altogether different. If she valued lives, she had stories to tell. Stories that would change everything. Yet, she could not predict if that would change things for the better. This new path thrust on her by fate was not going to be an easy one.

She shrugged and shook her head. Things would fall out as they would. As Daniel had insisted—she could only do her best. She was young, she was strong, and she had a lifetime of experience to draw on now to try to get Rodney's beloved Atlantis through the next dangerous years with as few casualties as possible. Rodney hadn't told her everything, but he told her enough. She could make a remarkable difference. But she had to convince them first. She couldn't fail. It wasn't an option. Not this time.

She sensibly got up then and used the Ancient console to figure out where the infirmary was. She shook her head bitterly when she realized she would have found it on the first attempt if she had only remembered one small turn. She managed to get there after she spent some time studying the maps and writing out directions to herself on a piece of paper.

By the time she got there, Carson was already there for the day. She saw him so differently now. He'd been such an important part of that other life and she found it even easier now to engage in friendly banter, inquire about his life, confide in him. That was all one-sided now. He had no idea of the friendship to come, but at least she had an inkling of how to cultivate it now. If he noticed a difference in her manner, he didn't bring any attention to it. He ran his tests and, after she mulishly insisted, gave her the pill to take.

She returned to her quarters, painstakingly following the map she had scribbled out, sure that Rodney would be worried, maybe angry, by then. But when she got there, he was still asleep. She woke him, begging him to take her to breakfast, smiling with relief and pure pleasure just to see him, which he seemed to think was amusingly suspicious so early in the morning.

* * *

The doors to the conference room swung open and she leapt with unwarranted alarm, her heart rate accelerating as she came suddenly to the present. The stimulant was doing its job, but it had side effects. It was augmenting her already agitated state.

Rodney squeezed her arm gently. "Ready?"

"Do they believe it?" she whispered.

"They're trying," Rodney said, quietly.

"Did you tell them the thing about Weir?" she asked, searching his face.

He nodded. She could see that wasn't convincing enough. So, this was going to be an uphill battle. She took a cleansing breath to steady her resolve and headed into the room. There were concerned looks on Carson and Radek's faces. Daniel smiled encouragement. Weir was impassive and John looked skeptical. She sank into the chair Rodney pulled out for her on one side of the semi-circular, glass-topped conference table and opened the notebook in front of her, paging to the place where she thought she should start—with the people who were likely in need of help at this very moment. Rodney took a seat next to her and turned on a small recording device in front of her.

She was taken aback, "What's this for?"

He frowned and tilted his head at Daniel.

Daniel lowered his chin and looked at her over the rims of his glasses, seriously. "We'll need a record of this, Em. You said it's important."

She nodded acknowledgement, glanced at her notes, and took another deep breath, then began without preamble. "Have you lost contact yet with the colony formed by the relocated Taranans?"

Weir tilted her head, slightly, and furrowed her brow. "I've tried to contact them twice this week, but haven't gotten a reply."

"I hope it isn't too late to save them. It's the Wraith called Michael. He'll murder them all. He's incredibly dangerous—far more dangerous than you ever thought. He's. . . twisted and sick. He has created laboratories on various worlds where he's experimenting on humans, changing them genetically, turning them into. . . beasts. He's using the clone he made of Carson, forcing him to do terrible things for his research. I don't know what exactly you will find on New Taranus, but you should be ready for absolutely anything. Rodney told me it was grisly. This is the only world I'm sure of—Rodney didn't mention any others by name. If we don't stop him now, he'll claim many victims, including the Athosians and. . . he'll try to hurt Teyla in a really despicable way. You will have to be very, very careful. He's devious and has set up booby traps in many of his labs."

No one's expression changed much. Maybe that hadn't been the most convincing place to start. Well, she had their attention at least, so she checked her notes again and plunged on, "Have you found the deep sea geothermal drilling station here on Lantea yet?"

Everyone frowned and looked like they didn't know what she was talking about except for Radek, who sat up a little straighter, looking surprised. "I just found mention of it in the database a few days ago."

"A geothermal station, like on Taranus? Why didn't you tell me about that?" Rodney demanded.

"I don't know much about it. The database doesn't have much to say," Radek said, frowning. "You've been busy." He flared his eyes and gestured at Emily.

Emily turned to Rodney, ignoring the mortification Radek's comment made her feel. "You said it has immense power capabilities. You can use it to fuel the city. But there's a problem—when you go down there, in a puddle jumper, to investigate the station, there will be a Wraith queen hibernating in a crippled cruiser near the station on the ocean floor. She's been trapped down there for millennia. She can swim the distance and she'll try to take the puddle jumper to escape. She'll set the auto-destruct on her cruiser before she leaves it. It would be disastrous if it went off so close to a geothermal rift." She paused, wincing at her next thought. "It would be easier to beam directly into her ship and dispose of her directly before she can do any of that."

The others were looking at each other, obviously unsure of what to make of that. There was a lot of ground to cover. Emily turned a page in her notes and forged on, "The Daedalus has been doing reconnaissance flyovers on the Asuran home world, hasn't it? Keeping an eye on them?"

John and Weir exchanged glances.

"Yes. You couldn't have known that." Weir was leaning forward, listening intently.

Everyone in the room seemed to be hanging on her every word now. Perhaps the men in white suits could be called another day.

That was good. The groundwork was laid. Now, the real convincing had to begin. She set her jaw and nodded. "Obviously. If he hasn't already, Colonel Caldwell will soon discover that the Asurans are building an armada with the capability of reaching and destroying Earth. The way that Home World Security and the IOA will decide to deal with this threat will be effective in the short term, but it will have disastrous consequences for Atlantis." She forced an edge of conviction into her voice, "We cannot let them do it. It's imperative that we find another way. I think I may know what that will be."

"How will they deal with the threat?" John asked, sitting up a little straighter.

"They will send the Apollo, commanded by Colonel Abraham Ellis. That's another fact I urge you to check, Dr. Weir. There's no way someone in my position could know who would ultimately command that vessel—but you have the clearance to find that out by now, I'm certain. It seems likely Apollo will be pushed to completion ahead of schedule because of this threat. It was many months from readiness when I left Earth. I have the sense that all of this will happen soon—probably within the next month or two. They will use nuclear warheads to destroy the ship-building sites. It will work, but Atlantis—"

Weir leaned in, eyes intense. "What happens to Atlantis, Dr. Freedman?"

A muscle in her right eyelid was firing. It felt like her whole face was twitching. She hoped it wasn't. That wouldn't lend an air of trust, honesty or professionalism to her performance. She ignored it, schooled her features, and met Weir's gaze unflinchingly. "In retaliation, the Asurans will send a satellite to orbit Lantea, equipped with an impervious shield and a Stargate. You will be unable to destroy it. They will fire a destructive energy beam through that gate, targeting Atlantis."

"We have shields. Won't we get them up in time?" Weir asked, looking only slightly skeptical.

"Yes. But, look, I'm not a physicist and I don't understand the science—the energy weapon was somehow capable of keeping the gate open for longer than thirty-eight minutes. There's a finite amount of energy in a ZPM to keep the shield up. Ultimately, it will fail from depletion."

"Yes, yes, that makes sense," Rodney said, frowning. "If there's enough energy being pumped through a wormhole, it could keep the wormhole open indefinitely."

Emily nodded. "Yes, that's what you told me. You sank the city to attenuate the beam's energy, but it only bought a few more hours of shield time. There was nowhere to go on this planet to escape the beam and no way to stop it. Someone came up with the idea to use energy from the geothermal drilling station to augment the ZPM in order to boost the city into orbit—the plan was to fly the city to another planet where the Asurans couldn't find you. To do it, you temporarily blocked the energy beam with one of Lantea's small moons by towing it into the beam's path. It was. . . close. John, you piloted the city from the control chair. But the energy requirement to achieve escape velocity was massive and you were forced to lower the shield for a short time in order to have enough power to overcome gravity. You thought you were safe for those few moments, but you weren't. It all goes terribly, terribly wrong."

The others were sending each other worried glances.

Weir looked to Radek and Rodney for confirmation, "Is that possible? Could we fly the city with only one ZPM?"

Rodney was rubbing his fingers together, his eyes darting around. "With a boost from a very large external power source? Yes. I think we could. Lift-off is the biggest consumer of power."

Radek frowned from across the room. "We would have to disable many safety protocols to fly the city with only one ZPM, but yes, I agree that it should be possible under a very special set of circumstances."

Emily looked down at her notes. She didn't want to tell them the next part. It would be painful to say, painful to hear. She felt strung out and her fingers were shaking. She wrapped her hands around the pen to still them, wishing she could have a sip of water. Her mouth was dry.

"What happens next, Dr. Freedman?" Weir urged.

She set her reluctance aside and continued gravely, "The energy beam grazed the central tower before the shield closed completely. People were hurt. The city was badly damaged. You managed to get into hyperspace, but fell out before you could reach the rendezvous site with the Apollo. You were trapped in the vastness of space, lost, cut off from help and it only got worse from there." She took a deep breath and went on, steadily, "Dr. Weir, you were badly injured, near death. From here, I can't be sure of the exact timeline. It seems things were very chaotic. Dr. Keller—" She cut herself off and looked at Rodney. "You explained what happened on Sunday—the mandatory rest day and. . . what would have happened to Carson?"

He didn't respond quickly to her change in direction. He looked momentarily flustered.

Carson spoke up, looking pained, "He did, Emily, please continue."

She grimaced at Carson, nodded, then turned back to Weir. "Dr. Keller came up with the idea to turn your nanites back on, Dr. Weir, to save you, and Rodney helped her make it happen. It was either that or certain death. Rodney couldn't stand by and let you die. He just. . . couldn't do it."

Dr. Weir shook her head in denial. "That's not acceptable," she said to the room in general.

John looked uncomfortable. "I don't think I would let that happen—that sounds like a bad idea."

Emily nodded at him. "It was against your wishes and it did have disastrous consequences. You were busy putting out some other fires. There was something about power conduits being damaged, bleeding power from the ZPM. There was also an asteroid belt you had to fly through." She looked down at her notes for reference. "The city's shield collapsed down to only the central tower because there was no power left. People were caught in the vacuum when that happened and I believe at least three died at that time. You tried to deal with the asteroid belt by getting everyone with the ATA gene on base flying puddle jumpers through it, firing drones at the asteroids to make a path for the city which was still moving under its own momentum." In her mind's eye, she remembered Rodney's smug expression when he told her it was like a live version of the game _Asteroids_.

She didn't allow herself to betray any amusement at that thought and continued, gravely, "Ultimately, you were out of options and on the verge of shield failure with no hope of landing the city. Someone realized you were within range of the Asuran home world. Rodney outfitted a puddle jumper with a hyperspace generator and you took it there to steal a ZPM. It was a desperate moment. It was the only way to survive."

Radek turned to Rodney. "Aren't you working on that technology only theoretically? That was something you came up with during your brush with the ascension device, right?"

"I was just trying to work out some of the algorithms yesterday. I actually manage that?" he asked her incredulously.

"You do." She looked down. Her mouth was dry, she was feeling lightheaded, and the twitch in her eyelid was giving her a headache. "I'm sorry. Could you please excuse me for a moment? I need to get some some water," she said, pushing back from the table and starting to rise.

John jumped up. "Sit down—I'll go fetch you one," he said and left the room at a jog.

Carson came over to sit next to her as the others started to discuss things among themselves. "How are you feeling?" he asked, taking her pulse.

She didn't see any reason to lie to him. He'd warned her she would feel like this. "Terrible," she admitted at a whisper, tucking her hair behind her ear and pressing a couple of fingers to her eyelid to still its maddening spasm. "The stimulant is making me very uncomfortable."

"Your pulse is a bit fast," he said, looking worried. "Emily, I want to thank you—"

"Don't," she said, cutting him off. "The Dartaran device decided that you were an important collaborator for me. It wanted to keep you around so we could be friends. It wasn't entirely me." She smiled at him warmly.

"Well, regardless, I'm glad to be here." He chuckled and gave her a confused, worried look.

She let herself quietly confide her fears to Carson, knowing he would understand. He'd been her only confidant for years and understood her like no other person, besides Rodney. He would understand this. "I'm glad you're here too. You are a dear friend. It gives me hope—that we could avert that terrible thing so easily. I desperately want to make the future safer. I just hope there won't be unforeseen consequences to changing these kinds of events. I can't help but wonder if something worse will happen instead. I know it's selfish, Carson, but I'm terrified for Rodney."

John set a bottle of water in front of her and joined the heated discussion between Rodney, Weir, and Radek. Sipping the water gratefully, she closed her eyes and felt, for a fraction of a second, like the room was twirling in orbit around her brain—a mad, scrambling, free-fall through space. She pulled the bottle from her lips, blinking rapidly, disconcerted by the sensation.

The stimulant and the fatigue were apparently at war within her brain.

"Don't worry. We'll do our best," Carson was saying, patting her hand. "You've forgiven him, then? For his transgressions?"

"Oh," she said, remembering the time in the infirmary. Carson, like Rodney, must have mistaken her desire to be alone for anger. "He didn't. . . the one who needed forgiving was me," she said without thinking. "I needed to forgive myself." She noted his look of confusion and smiled, sadly. "I think I'll explain that comment another day, if you don't mind."

Rodney was holding up his hands, barking, "Ok, I get it. Under no circumstances am I to turn the nanites back on."

Daniel shot her a humorous look and spoke up. "Let's reconvene, shall we? I think Dr. Freedman has more to say and she isn't feeling her best."

Rodney was rubbing his hands together. "Yes, yes, I want to hear about this heist. Did we manage to get a ZedPM? Well, we must have, right?"

Emily nodded. The others were settling back into their chairs. Carson stayed seated on the other side of her, watching her closely.

Dr. Weir leaned forward, her palms flat on the tabletop. "Dr. Freedman, who went on this mission to the Replicator home world?"

"I believe it was Rodney, John, and you, Dr. Weir. It seems likely Ronon or Teyla or both also went along, but I don't know for sure." She turned to Rodney. "You did get the ZPM. But the cost was very dear. You had to use Dr. Weir. Her nanites allowed her to interface with the Asuran collective without immediate detection and helped you. You got the ZPM easily. But while you were there, you found something in the Asuran. . . um," she paused and checked her notes, uncertain of the terminology, "command code. Some kind of attack program against the Wraith that you wanted to turn on. You felt that it would be the only opportunity to do something like that. It was risky. You managed to do it, but. . . Dr. Weir was lost to you all forever. She sacrificed herself so the rest of the team could get away. You found out later, they. . . killed her."

The room went quiet. Everyone looked uncomfortable. Moments passed. Dr. Weir leaned back in her chair, arms folded on her chest. "Did it work?" she asked flatly.

Emily steeled herself and met Dr. Weir's gaze dead on. "No."

"What? Why not?" Rodney demanded.

"It turned the Asurans against the Wraith, but they didn't fight the way you hoped they would. They didn't just attack Wraith. After only three months of war with the Wraith, the Asurans decided it was far easier to remove the Wraith's food supply from the equation than to attack hives. This is likely the reason why the Ancients never used them for this purpose. They knew their dark side too well."

John looked confused. "Are you saying the Replicators killed humans instead of Wraith?"

Emily returned his gaze solemnly. "Entire worlds of humans were annihilated throughout Pegasus. You tried to stop it, found ways to deal with it, but many, many thousands of lives were lost. It was a dark time."

"Oh my God," Carson said, beside her.

Weir stood, leaned against the table, and said angrily, "We cannot let this happen."

"No, no, no, no, no—of course not," Rodney interjected. "Let's back up. You said something when you were talking about the Apollo coming. You said you knew another way to deal with the Replicators."

She took another drink, conscious of the fact that they were all looking at her so intensely. "Yes. There is another way, but you and Radek will have to figure out the science, because I don't have a clue what it means. Some time went by, months or more, I suppose, and you gave up on breaking the bonds between nanites. You decided that technology was a dead end. Instead, you decided to create a Human-Form-Replicator here, in an Ancient lab. The equipment exists here in Atlantis. She was a seed that you planted on the Asuran home world. Instead of breaking the bonds between the nanites, you programmed her to make them. . . more attracted to each other?" She looked at her notes again, frowning. She hadn't really understood it, when he'd told her then. Could she make them understand in the retelling? She wished fervently that she'd taken a few more courses in physics. "They became very dense and the larger the mass got, the stronger the attraction? Ultimately the Asuran home world imploded and they were no longer a threat."

"Hm." Rodney was rubbing his fingers together, thinking. "Yes, yes, I think that could work. Instead of severing their connections, we could significantly dial up their attraction to one another at a subspace level." He stood up absentmindedly and began to pace, then turned to Radek. "We could turn each cell into an incredibly powerful nanite-magnet."

Radek rose slowly, looking excited. "One cell attracts another cell."

Rodney nodded. "Those two attract two more, and as more and more nanite cells bond to the core group, they become stronger and stronger and stronger—to the point where every Replicator cell on the planet, in orbit—all of them, are massed in a giant, super-dense blob." He was gesturing expansively, looking elated.

John was frowning and shaking his head. "A super-dense Replicator-blob? That doesn't sound like something we want to deal with. Sounds like a bad guy from an out-of-control, b-grade, horror movie."

Radek smiled roguishly, ignoring John. "This could disrupt the normal repellent force between nuclei."

Rodney pointed at Radek. "Yes. Yes. To the point where their electrons are fusing with their protons and once that starts happening, they're toast! Oh my God. That's it! Why didn't I think of this before? Emily, you're a genius!"

She smiled at the look on his face, loving the fact that she could see the moment of discovery for herself. "I'm not the genius, Rodney. It's your idea."

Dr. Weir moved between the tables to stand in the center of the conference room and looked back and forth between Radek and Rodney. "This could really work?"

They were both nodding enthusiastically.

"Dr. Freedman, can you tell us anything else about this strike against the Replicator home world that was effective?"

Emily frowned. "It's complicated, Dr. Weir." She looked down at her notes. "I don't entirely understand it myself, even though I was working at the SGC at the time and obviously was vaguely aware of what was happening here, but Rodney told me there was an alliance of ships to keep any of the Asurans from escaping the planet while the plan was underway—not even one ship could be allowed to flee before the destruction was complete, or it would all be for naught. There was a fleet of Wraith ships as well as ships sent by the Travellers, a group of people who live entirely on-board ships. These other ships collaborated with our own small fleet to contain the Asuran threat until they were eliminated."

Weir cocked her head to the side, looking mystified. "We had an alliance with the Wraith?"

Emily nodded soberly. "A common threat. There is a certain Wraith in particular, who kept popping up in the stories. The name you gave him was Todd." That didn't seem to register with anyone, so she went on, "I believe he was. . . with Colonel Sheppard in the Genii prison."

John's eyes bulged. "We meet up with him again?"

She nodded. "Todd is someone to be very wary of. Things are not always what they seem with him. He's devious and has motives of his own."

John looked unnerved, but nodded. "Obviously."

"May I see your notes, Dr. Freedman?" Dr. Weir asked, coming closer.

Emily's heart rate skyrocketed again. She closed the notebook and covered it with her hand. "Ah, no. I'm sorry. I'll prepare something for you. These are personal. I'd rather not share them with anyone, if you don't mind."

Weir watched her, her brow furrowing. "Of course. Type up a report, if you would, then, when you are well enough." Weir settled her hip against the conference table across from Emily. "Tell me more about these memories and how they came to be. Dr. Jackson and Rodney have explained it, but I want to hear it in your voice."

Emily looked up. Rodney and Radek were talking animatedly on the other side of the room in their own, shared, technical-language shorthand about this idea of shrinking the bonds between nanites, but the rest of the room was still focused on her.

Emily blinked and turned back to Weir. The stimulant was starting to lose the battle. She strove to maintain a dispassionate, professional demeanor and form a coherent answer. "Well, I. . . suppose all of this information has been stored in my head for the last few months, given to me by the Dartaran device. I just didn't know it until my memories were restored by the carcaerum device. It seems to have allowed me to file them and process them more consciously than the Dartaran device really intended. Now, I seem to have the. . . cumulative memories of that version of myself from the alternate timeline and they are coexisting with my own real memories. In the alternate timeline, I never came to Atlantis. I met Rodney 28 years from now and he told me these stories about what happened here when he lived here." She swallowed. Her voice was getting hoarse from all the talking.

"You were in a relationship with him then, twenty-eight years from now?" Weir asked, clearly fascinated.

"Yes. We were married." She looked down and closed her eyes, feeling the world tip and swirl again. She struggled not to let it show. Were her eyes going in two different directions? She blinked hard and held onto the table with white knuckles, forcing herself to re-engage with Weir.

Weir's head dipped slightly and she examined Emily in seeming amazement. "Well, for whatever reason the memories are there, it would be foolish not to try to learn from them—hindsight being twenty-twenty as it were. Are there other things you can tell us, things that would benefit the expedition, Dr. Freedman?"

Emily suppressed the urge to yawn by taking a deep breath. She smiled briefly, thinking of the storyteller Rodney had become. "I was intensely curious, having been grounded on Earth myself, all those years, and drew many details out of him that maybe he wouldn't have told someone else. He told me many more stories Dr. Weir. Carson's clone shared things with me as well. I've been carefully recording these things and there are still things I need to write down. I've been struggling to stay awake long enough to find the time. But I'll give you a thorough report as soon as I'm able."

"Yes, in fact," Carson interjected, frowning. "I think my patient is in need of rest, even now. We'll have to continue this discussion another time." Carson tapped his radio. "First Lieutenant Wagner, please report to the large conference room."

Weir pressed her lips together in a line and nodded. "Ok. I'll look forward to your report. Take care of yourself, Dr. Freedman." Weir spoke gently and gave her a lingering look of concerned appreciation, then, turning, stood and addressed John. "Let's have a discussion about the practical tactics we'll need to use to approach this. Let's start by sending a large, heavily-armed team to scout New Taranus immediately. Also, I want you to put some feelers out to the Genii—see if Ladon Radim can tell us anything about these Travellers. I'll set a science team on finding the submerged Wraith cruiser. The Daedalus will be arriving in a few weeks. I'll want your best strike team to deal with this Wraith queen as soon as it gets here, so we can bring this geothermal station on line." John was nodding and they started moving toward the conference room's doors.

The nurse arrived and Carson went to talk to her. Emily could see Daniel was preparing to leave. She picked up the recording device and crossed the room, handing it to him.

He looked serious and pulled her into a light hug. "You'll be ok, Em," he said, his hands still on her shoulders, holding her at arm's length. He looked around to see if anyone was close enough to be listening, then said to her quietly, "Maybe. . . next time you could tell me what our kids would've been like. Only if you want to, of course. I'd. . . like to know." His jaw was clenching and she could see his eyes were misty like her own.

"Yes. I'll tell you. Next time, Daniel."

He dropped his hands, picked up his things, and, nodding at her, left.

"Hey." Rodney grabbed her arm and squeezed it. "You said goodbye to Daniel? You ok?"

"I'm ok," she said firmly.

"There's a lot of stuff in there, isn't there?" he asked, looking concerned.

She smiled a trembling smile and nodded.

He frowned, glancing around the room. "You were right—I'm going to be busy. I probably won't see you again until tonight. You going to be ok with the nurse?" He was hesitating, looking worried.

She struggled to keep her discomfort to herself, but she was pretty sure she wasn't fooling him. She tried clearing her throat so she wouldn't sound so raspy. "Yes, don't worry. I'll be fine. Just a lot of sleeping, I'm sure. Get back to work. You won't miss anything, I promise."


	37. Chapter 37 amare love

Rodney slid to his side, leaving his hand possessively on her stomach. Her cheeks were flushed and her lips were rosy. She pulled the sheet over them, smiling a lazy, satisfied smile, and kissed him with slow, sultry kisses.

Things were somewhat returning to normal. It was late and he was exhausted, but she had just woken up. He saw her so little lately, that he decided to stay up with her tonight until she was ready to sleep again. They had a lot to talk about. She seemed intent on more kissing, which was fine for now. He was just determined not to be the guy who dozed off. Well, not this time, anyway. He slid his hand up some more and stopped dead, clenching his jaw. He broke off the kiss and started to rise, looking for his shorts.

"Where are you going?" she asked, sounding annoyed.

"I pilfered some brownies from the mess. You want one?" he asked, peering under the sheet for the elusive boxers.

"Not hungry. But you go ahead."

"Emily, the nurse said you only ate twice today. I threw some sandwiches in the fridge. Want one of those?"

"No thanks. They're probably frozen. I lost half a case of diet coke in that stupid thing. Are we going to argue about this again?" She pulled on his arm, pulling him back toward her.

"I fixed it. You didn't have the temperature set properly. Look, I don't want to argue, but you've lost something like thirty pounds—you need to eat something."

She cupped his cheek and shook her head, smiling, saying, "Your propensity for hyperbole is adorable."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're exaggerating."

"I know what hyperbole means, dammit. How much have you lost? Do I have to get Carson on the radio to ask him?" He shouldn't have said that. He wouldn't actually do it and he knew it would make her mad, but she needed to take this more seriously.

"Stop it," she said crossly. "I've lost eleven pounds since. . . the day I was wiped. Carson says I'll gain it back in a couple of months if I just eat larger portions. He's not worried about it, so why should you be?" Then her expression changed and she looked uncomfortable, saying softly, "Do I really look that terrible?"

He felt guilty. She was already dealing with too much. "No. Of course not. You're beautiful. I guess eleven pounds doesn't sound like much," he conceded reluctantly.

She sighed. "It wouldn't be for you. You're six feet tall. You have a large frame. Maybe I'll eat something later. I'm just not hungry right now, ok?"

"Ok. It's just. . . ." He took her hand and gently laid it over her ribs to present his evidence.

She jerked her hand away and pulled the sheet back up. "I know. You've made your point. I know you're worried about it, ok? Look, my mom will take care of it, believe me. She's like an Italian grandmother. By the time I get back I'll probably have gone too far in the other direction. Will you still want me when I'm fat?"

"Yep. You could be the stay-puff marshmallow girl and I wouldn't care. You could be like me." He gestured at his own generous midsection, glad for a chance to lighten the mood. She seemed to be very testy about her drastic weight loss, but unwilling to do anything meaningful about it. Though what it was exactly that she was supposed to be doing, he wasn't quite sure himself—but a few extra desserts wouldn't hurt, couldn't she see that?

She smiled happily and said, "I like you just the way you are. You're soft, like a teddy bear." She wrapped an arm around him and squeezed.

"Mm," he smirked at her. "I don't think anyone else will agree with that comparison."

"Maybe not. They just don't know you like I do. There's that smirk I love. It was getting rusty, mister." She was beaming.

He huffed. It had been too long.

"You're a healthy weight, though, right? I mean, you look great to me and you're out there in the field a few times a week. You're getting exercise with all those long walks to and from gates."

He rolled his eyes and spoke without thinking, "Carson doesn't agree with you. He says I'm pre-diabetic, that I need to cut back on carbs."

She furrowed her brow. "Really? You need to take that seriously. You do love your carbs."

"Hm." He frowned. How had this suddenly become about him? Oh, God, she was warming up to the topic. He could see it.

"I mean, if you just cut back on the jello, that would be a good start. Baby steps, McKay."

"I like jello," he countered sullenly.

"It's pure sugar!" she giggled. "I'll bring back some diet for you."

"Don't bother. I won't eat it."

"Even if it's blue?" she teased.

"If it's blue, I'll taste it, but I'm not promising anything. It's more than just sugar. There's some protein in there," he reasoned, grasping at straws. "It's got gelatin in it. That's protein, right?"

"Yuck. Do you know what that junk is made from?" She propped herself up on an elbow and looked down at him, shaking her head.

"No, but I'm sure you're about to tell me," he said, frowning.

"It's a byproduct of the pork industry—made from the collagen in the leftover skin and bones of the carcasses after slaughter."

He looked at her incredulously. "No. That can't be right. They feed that stuff to kids."

"I'd google it to prove it to you, but, oops, our internet connection is down. I couldn't make up something that gross, Rodney."

He sighed a long suffering sigh. "Fine. You win. I'm off jello for at least two weeks. You've tainted it for me forever," he said morosely.

She collapsed back on her pillow, laughing her head off. He watched her, smiling himself. It was good to see her laugh again, even if she'd just taken away one of his favorite food groups.

When she'd calmed down enough to resume conversation, he asked, "So, what did you do today?"

She wiped a tear away and chuckled a little more, then said, "Not much, unfortunately. Morning coffee with Elizabeth, as usual. We're still hammering out the details from my reports, of course, whatever tidbits I can remember. Late lunch with Carson. He's doing a lot of research into the serum Michael was using on his clone to keep his cells stable. We talked about what we should call him—the clone. I suggested we use Carson's middle name. He seemed to like the idea."

"What's that?"

"Angus," she said brightly.

"Angus? Are you serious? Carson Angus Beckett?"

She nodded enthusiastically. "It's a common name in Scotland. It means 'unnaturally strong.' There was a Celtic god called Angus Og who was reputed to be wise and extremely intelligent."

How the hell does she know about Celtic gods and how gelatin is made, he mused, watching her. Then he thought about Carson again. And Angus? He sighed. "This is going to be like a bad episode of Star Trek," he muttered.

She chuckled. "It could be. Original Series or Next Generation?"

He rubbed a hand over his face. He was tired. It'd been a long week. "Original."

"Oh, um, Mirror Mirror? You think Carson's clone will turn out to be evil? How will we tell? If he grows a goatee? Actually, that might not be a bad idea. It could be an easy way to tell them apart. He was quite nice to me in the alternate timeline—he introduced us, remember? I don't think we have anything to worry about."

"Hello! He was working with Michael. That can't be good."

"Against his will, Rodney. What was he supposed to do? Michael kept killing people if he didn't cooperate. At least Michael didn't have him for long. Michael hadn't accomplished many of his goals yet. Carson told me Angus had been trying to sabotage the work, but Michael was catching on and was talking about punishing him in some vague, diabolical terms. They rescued him just in time. He didn't know he was a clone, you know. Angus thought he was the real thing, same as the other timeline. That had to be a shock for him to hear."

"We're really going to call him Angus?" Rodney groaned.

She shrugged and looked annoyed that he didn't like the name. "If you have a better idea, you'd better tell Carson now while he's still in the stasis chamber. I hope I will be here, to reassure him when they take him out. He and I have a lot in common now, more than just this bizarre future/history."

_Hm. Better change the subject. _ "Did you do any work today?"

She sighed. "A little. It's hard to focus right now."

He furrowed his brow. He didn't like to see her looking so unhappy. "It should get easier, shouldn't it? You're awake more now than you were a week ago, right? What does Carson say?"

"My scans look good." She snorted. "Carson says my sleep schedule resembles that of an 12-month-old toddler. He seems to think I will just gradually return to normal over time. He said tomorrow I won't have to use the nurse anymore. He set me up with the welcoming committee to help me get around. They're going to track my movements and give him a daily log. I'm supposed to report my sleep to him. I only have to go for checkups once a day now."

"Why didn't anyone consult me about this change?" he said testily. "I don't like the idea of you being alone all the time." _And no one monitoring your food intake._

"I won't be alone unless I'm sleeping, Rodney. The only person I want around when I'm doing that is you. I'm fine. I've got a schedule of sorts now. I have coffee with Elizabeth and work on reports, followed by a nap. Then I have a late lunch with a friend and a session with Kate, maybe some more work, if I can manage it, then another nap. Then I get to see you." She smiled and started kissing him again, running her hand over his chest. She was trying to distract him and it was working.

He grabbed her hand. "Let's just talk about this, now, ok? We're running out of time. We've already done. . . that. Let's just talk for a while."

"Don't you want round two?" she asked huskily.

He huffed at her in disbelief. "Are you kidding? Of course I do. Let's just focus right now. Elizabeth got an ultimatum today. Do you know about that?"

Her face shuttered down and she fell back against the pillow. "Yes. I know."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to go. What choice do I have? Elizabeth told them I was waiting for the Daedalus' return trip, but that isn't good enough for them. Carson apparently filed a case study about my reaction to the gate weeks ago. They ordered Elizabeth to give me dramamine and send me through—or else. But Carson doesn't know for sure if that will be enough when going through thirty-two sequential gates. He can't predict if it will affect my current condition in a negative way. He's going to file for a medical deferment, but I suspect it won't have any effect. They're threatening to send marines through to find me if I don't show up in a week. I don't want Elizabeth to risk her job over this. And I don't want them to come take me by force."

"They're bluffing, Emily. Don't be scared. It'll be ok."

"I'm not scared!" she retorted hotly. "I'm pissed. They're so hungry for details of the future—the bloodsucking bastards. Why did they destroy the device if they want to know so bad? Why do they have to pick on me?"

"Because it isn't just dreams to you. You remember it all. There's no uncertainty. You've already proved that. They know you know."

"I'm not a prophet. I'm just the unlucky sap who touched two really obnoxious devices."

"I know. Just tell them everything and they'll be done with you."

"That could just be wishful thinking and you know it. They could detain me indefinitely, hoping I'll remember something else."

"I don't think O'Neill or Landry would let that happen."

"It's the IOA! O'Neill and Landry don't have any control over what they do with me. Do you realize they wanted to put Daniel to death over this Ori thing he just went through? Oh, my God, they are just insane! I—if they had just let it rest for a couple of weeks, even a few days. . . maybe I wouldn't be so mad, but they don't care that I'm struggling, that I need time. They just don't give a damn."

He didn't know what to say to reassure her. She seemed angry rather than frightened. That was probably a good thing.

"It's not that I don't want to go. I see very clearly that it's my duty. I'm not denying that. I just. . . I want to be professional about this. I want to be in a better place when I go. How can they take me seriously when I'm an uncontrollable narcoleptic? I don't see how a few more weeks is going to make a difference from a galactic point of view. They have my reports."

"I know. It's ok." Quiet grew between them, because he couldn't do or say anything to change it for her. He was completely impotent with regards to this debacle.

She seemed. . . somewhat stronger since her recovery, not nearly so shy and timid. He wondered if all those extra memories had anything to do with it. Like now. He looked at her and sighed. The sheet had slipped down and she didn't seem to notice or care. A month ago she would've been turning pink and pulling the sheet up self-consciously.

It was so damn distracting. Her small, sweetly-curved breasts jiggled as she gestured. Her pert, pink nipples all but commanding his attention. He swallowed. He'd always been a breast man. But now he actually wished she would just pull the sheet up so he could think. He pinched his eyes closed, trying to refocus. But all he could think about was the afternoon, weeks ago, when he'd told her about having Cadman's consciousness in his brain.

He'd been grousing about what an ordeal it'd been and she'd said, solemnly, "It could've been so much worse, you know."

He'd looked at her incredulously and said, "How?"

"You've never considered the fact that there was a fifty percent chance it could've gone the other way?"

"Oh. Well, no. I was kind of preoccupied with the situation I was in at the time."

"You could've been forced to experience the daily female rituals of grooming, Rodney—first hand. You might have had to participate in. . . shaving her legs, hair styling, putting on make up. . . wearing a bra." She shot him a serious look.

He felt his eyes go wide. He hadn't thought of that. Not even once. "A bra?" he'd managed to get out.

"Yes. You could have found out what a nightmare we go through as a matter of social convention. She was the lucky one. She got to be free of all that for a few days."

"Huh. Bras are. . . a nightmare?"

"You seriously don't know that? Where have you been?" She rolled her eyes, but didn't look mad. She wasn't laughing at him either. "They bind, chafe, leave horrible, deep, red marks on your skin—and those are the good ones. It's sort of bewildering to figure out how to buy the right size. It doesn't seem to matter how much money you spend on them. There are supposed to be measurements you can take, but I've never found them to accurately reflect size. Bras are more for men than they are for women, Rodney. We know for a fact that men invented them. Somewhere along the line someone decided we needed to be. . . contained. And I'm lucky. I'm. . . well. . . sort of. . . ." She trailed off, seemingly at a loss for words.

He was perplexed so he prompted her, "What?"

Her face was pink and she fiddled with her hair. "Smaller." She shrugged. "Girls who are bustier have to deal with. . . weight."

"So, don't wear them," he'd suggested, not being able to resist giving them a proper examination while she giggled and squirmed, her fingers curling in his hair. There weren't any red marks to be found, but then, she hadn't been wearing one all day, had she?

She seemed scandalized. "People would notice. No way. Not me. I couldn't do it. Not for a minute."

He'd always liked watching her dress and undress but there was a new level of fascination after that. She didn't seem to be primping, as she fastened a bra and tugged it on, looking pointedly in the mirror as she pulled it into place and deliberately slipped a hand into each cup to align each breast just so. And when she would take it off at the end of the day, she looked so grateful, rubbing the small pink welts on her rib cage and running her hands over each breast lightly as though freeing them was such a relief. He didn't think he would ever get tired of watching her do it, or helping her do it, for that matter.

She said. . . she said they would grow, swell, with pregnancy if. . . that ever happened for them. He liked the thought of that. Not because he wanted her to be different. . . but because he was fascinated with the idea of watching her ripen with a life inside her. She could give him their child—a gifted, brilliant child, who would surely get the best of both of them. And she would nurture that child, the way she nurtured him, and they would all be better for it. He wondered if her feelings would change. . . about having children now. But that wasn't a question for today. It could wait.

He sighed and looked at her. She was staring off into space, clearly still thinking angrily about the IOA. It looked like she'd be leaving for Earth in less than a week. He wanted to go with her, protect her, rip into the IOA reps that were being so callous. . . but he couldn't and that was really eating at him.

Things were coming to a head here. There was still so much left to do. If he walked away now, he would leave a heavy burden on Zelenka and there was just too much riding on this going right. Emily had given them the tools to change everything for the better, but if he left, he might sabotage that and. . . dammit. . . he couldn't risk it. So, she would have to go alone. He hated it. Between his work and her excessive need for sleep, they'd barely talked since she'd revealed her knowledge of Atlantis' future. There was still so much they should talk about before she left.

He reached out and twined his fingers with hers, speaking softly. "We haven't talked about the fact that I can't go with you. I want to. You know that, right? I want to ask Carson to go with you. He could look out for you, keep an eye on you, keep them off your back."

She sighed and laid her arm across her forehead. The sheet slipped down even farther. "I know you can't, Rodney. I know you're worried, but no. I'm not asking Carson to come with me. His plate is full. I'm a big girl. I'll go alone. And you should know that if I'm going all that way, going through that damn bridge, I'm not rushing back. I'm going to stay with my mom for a couple of weeks. It's what Carson wants, anyway. He says I need a break. I don't think he's wrong. I can't work a proper day right now anyway and it doesn't seem right to keep paying me to sleep. It would be perfect if you could come with me. But, the timing's just terrible."

"Ok. I. . . figured. It's going to be weird without you here."

"It's weird with me here. I'm a looney-tune. It'll be a nice break for you."

"Don't say that, Emily. I've never thought you were crazy. Never. I'm sorry. I keep saying I'll never doubt you again and I keep screwing up. I know you. . . you'll be ok. You don't have to prove yourself anymore. Not to me."

"You didn't believe me about the jello," she said, slanting an eye at him and grinning.

He rolled his eyes at her. "Will you pull the damn sheet up, already? I can't think with those twin mounds of destruction staring at me," he accused. She pressed her lips together, smothering a giggle, and complied with his request. He looked at her more seriously. "I don't know when the mission will be yet. The timing will be close. Maybe I could come for a few days at the end, before you come back. What do you think?"

"I'd like that. You know that. But I'm not going to hold my breath. Things are crazy here right now. I doubt you'll be able to get away. Don't worry—the SGC will make sure I'm taken care of. My mom will fatten me up. I'll rest. I'll come back ready to work again. I hope." She was staring at the ceiling, looking pensive.

He ventured a little closer and smoothed her hair back from her face, determined to ask the question he was really worried about. "Emily. . . are you talking to Kate about. . . the other timeline?"

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Yes."

"You told me about the dreams. . . why don't you want to tell me about it?"

She looked troubled. "I've told you lots of things. . . ."

"You told me about Atlantis. You told me about Tony's. But. . . what was your life like? Were you happy? You haven't said much, you know," he asked softly.

"It doesn't matter. That stuff isn't real."

"What do you mean?"

"It's like a novel or a movie. It's just a story. No matter how real those children seem to be to me in my mind, they just aren't real. They'll never exist. It can't be good for me to think about them or talk about them. It hurts, knowing I can't ever see them again—but they aren't even real. It's absolutely insane. How. . . how can I mourn someone that was never born?" she asked, her eyes wide and brimming with tears.

Oh, God, what was he stirring up? "But they are real, Emily," he said gently, running a hand down her arm.

She looked perturbed. She slapped his hand away and sat up suddenly. "What? How can you say that? What do you mean?"

He sat up too. "They do exist. Not here, obviously. But somewhere in an alternate universe, maybe many alternate universes—there are versions of you who will have those kids or some permutation of them. I mean, in each universe, it just depends on whether you put on the gloves before you touched the Dartaran device, right? Sometimes you did, sometimes you didn't. Sometimes you went to Atlantis to find me, other times you stayed. Maybe Daniel even lived in some of those realities. There may be other outcomes as well that we aren't equipped to imagine. You haven't abandoned them. You're there caring for them, or some version of you is."

"Oh," she said, laying back down, looking shocked.

He brushed a lock of her hair from her face. "You didn't realize that?"

"I'm not a physicist!" she said in a strangled, anguished cry and curled up in a ball.

He laid down next to her and she moved to wrap herself around him, clinging to him. He patted her hair and frowned. "I thought you understood that. Whenever there's an occurrence that can lead to more than one outcome, each of those outcomes will be played out. It's quantum mechanics."

"I knew that," she whimpered. "I just didn't know it had anything to do with time. I thought. . . it either happened or it didn't. I don't know. None of it really makes any sense to me and I'm so damn tired of trying to make sense of it."

"Well, it seems to me that what you saw in the dreams, in these memories, was one reality—the path you were on—what would have happened if you'd never touched the device. But the second you touched it, another reality was formed and that is. . . where we are now. Technically, the device showed you the wrong future, because the second you touched it, it couldn't really be your future anymore then, could it—because even if you lived it out exactly as it was predicted, you had foreknowledge that was not present in the original timeline. Do you see what I mean? It's a kind of paradox. Knowing it changes everything."

"Yes. That makes sense because they didn't intend for it to be a prediction of the future. They just intended for it to shape a person's behavior. None of this was what they intended."

"What do you know about this race that created the device? They were called the Dartarans?"

"Essentially nothing. I looked in the database—I used every possible spelling permutation of the name Dartaran and found no reference to them. They didn't pass through Pegasus then, I guess, or weren't known here. They may have pre-dated the Ancients or maybe they felt pressure from all the human populations the Ancients were seeding throughout the Milky Way. They could have gone anywhere, really. If they could control time in this way with such a small device, they must have been very, very powerful technologically, don't you think?"

He nodded, frowning. "No kidding. That's an understatement." It had been reckless to destroy it. They could have learned a lot from it. Any alien tech was worth a good look, just for innovative ideas. Even dismantled, never used again, it could still be incredibly useful. The physics of time were something physicists grappled with. It wasn't well understood. "I wish I could have seen the device before they destroyed it," he said.

"I know."

She was quiet for a while, then rolled on her side and said, "What do you want to know about it?"

"You don't have to tell me now if you don't want to. Are you getting tired?" He felt bad. He'd pushed too hard. He didn't want her to be upset.

"It's ok. It's strange, really. I don't know why, but I feel so much better knowing they might actually be out there somewhere. It was hard to bear the thought that they only existed in my mind. I mean, I know when I told you about the dreams, I told you how hard it was after Daniel died, but it wasn't always like that. We were happy. They were wonderful. Daniel would've been proud of them. You liked them." She smiled at him sadly.

He decided to change the subject to something lighter. He smiled indulgently. "So, ah, here's a question for you—the day you were discharged from the infirmary, you made a weird comment that I've wondered about. You said something like, 'thank God for Daniel Jackson to talk some sense into me.' What was that about?"

She went still and didn't meet his gaze. After a long moment she said, quietly, "I. . . don't remember."

"You were pretty sleepy," he said, running a hand over her stomach under the sheet, thinking maybe it was time for round two after all, if she was still interested. "I just want to know what I should be thanking him for. Before you talked to him, you didn't want to have much to do with me, but afterwards you seemed pretty much like your old self, a little sleepier than usual, but the same old Emily. So what did he say?" He kissed her shoulder and looked at her expectantly.

"Rodney, I've told you there's nothing going on between Daniel and me." she said weakly and sat up. She held the sheet to her chest and swung her legs over the side of the bed.

He narrowed his eyes at her. "I know that. He practically gave you to me when you were asleep." _Damn._ He shouldn't have said that. He grimaced, waiting for her wrath, but she hadn't seemed to notice. He waited a moment, watching her.

She had an odd expression on her face. She got up and started rummaging around in a drawer for underclothes and pulled them on with stilted, jerky movements.

"I was really sleepy. I didn't know what I was saying," she mumbled.

"Ok. What's going on? You said something about having wretched ideas of fate and entitlement, does that ring a bell?" Something was wrong. He was starting to feel that feeling of dread again, but he wasn't sure why.

She pulled a uniform shirt over her head. He realized she hadn't made eye contact with him for some time. "I don't know." She looked like she was actually scared.

He was starting to feel scared too. He finally found his boxers, pulled them on, and went over to her, trying to reassure her, convince her, something. "Don't do this again, Emily. Tell me what's going on," he said gruffly.

Her face was white. She pulled on pants.

"It'll be ok, I swear. Is this something about the memories?" He turned away from her abruptly. "Oh, God. Something really terrible happens to me, doesn't it? You're afraid you won't want me anymore. What happens? Do I lose a leg? An arm? Do I get cancer or, or, or some crazy Pegasus disease that the doctors on Earth don't know how to cure?"

She grasped at him in a strangely desperate manner and said, vehemently, "No! It was nothing like that. I'll always want you! Never doubt that, ok?"

"Well, what is it then? Look, whatever it is, we can work together to try to prevent it. Just tell me, Emily. I love you. Let me fix it."

She pressed her forehead into his shoulder. "I'm sorry. I can't lie to you. You can't fix this. I don't think it can be fixed, in any real sense. I'll tell you what we talked about, but it could change things between us forever. I won't lie. That terrifies me."

He stared at her blankly. What could possibly be so bad? She pulled him into the living room and pushed him gently toward his favorite chair. She sat down, opposite. They watched each other warily from their native, evening work spots, the spots they assumed before fatigue or amorous intentions got the better of them every night. . . before the carcaerum device changed everything, anyway.

Her voice sounded drab and tired, but resolute. She stared at the stained glass, though he knew she couldn't see anything through it at that angle. "Daniel said the future is plastic. He said I was. . . deserving. He said it didn't matter as long as I did my best. I'm trying to do my best, I swear. But when I came, I. . . didn't know everything. I only knew fragments. Those little bits. . . they didn't give me the full picture and I was selfish. I wanted you even before I met you."

"I don't understand." He wanted to clutch her by the shoulders, search for understanding in her sad, brown eyes. But he was stuck where she'd placed him.

She closed her eyes. "If I hadn't come to Atlantis, you would have eventually fallen in love with. . . and married someone else. We were both widowed when we met. I didn't know about it, when I came. I swear I didn't. I never would've presumed. I just wouldn't have. . . ."

"Oh." He looked at her, finally comprehending what her grief had been about when she woke up, what had continued to trouble her at odd moments when she thought he wasn't looking. Maybe even the nightmare she had the night before. "Well, it couldn't have been anything like this, like what we're like. Who was it? Katie Brown? Because she and I. . . I mean, you were right about that, I think."

"No. Not Katie. You proposed marriage to her, or tried to, but something happened to make you change your mind and she left Atlantis. You broke up." She was looking down, barely audible.

"Ok. Is it someone I already know?"

She looked at him squarely, pain written over her features. Her voice was firm, dispassionate, before it broke. "Yes. I think so. You loved her, Rodney. Really loved her. I was thinking about leaving. . . going back to Earth. . . so maybe it would still happen. Daniel said I was wrong."

Anger and fear blazed inside him. He struggled to keep it under control. He rose stiffly and ground out, a quiet roar, "No. He loved her. I didn't love her. I love you. He isn't me. His life is completely different. Quit saying it was me. It wasn't me. I didn't do those things."

She flinched. "I—ok." She looked confused and hurt.

"Daniel talked you out of," he swallowed thickly, trying to fully understand, "he talked you out of leaving me?"

Her chest was heaving. Her eyes were wild and haunted. "I felt so guilty. I thought I'd robbed you of something special, something you really deserve to have. I didn't want to leave you. But, what if she makes you happier than I can?" She seemed to gather herself together and started to sound angry herself, though tears were streaming down her face, dripping unheeded from her chin. "I can't stop the memories, Rodney. They come to me when I least expect it. I keep seeing you—him—describing her and—dammit, Rodney—it's so painful! She sounds like the ideal woman for you and I can't compete with that! Kate said I could try hypnotism to try to compartmentalize these stupid, awful memories, so I'd only think of them when I want to—" She choked on her own tears.

He just stared at her, uncomprehending. How could she think anyone else could possibly make him happier? Why had he ever asked about this? Why couldn't he have just left it alone? He wanted to go back, take back the questions so this conversation would never have happened.

"I'm sorry," she gasped. "All I wanted was to be happy. I never wanted to hurt anyone. All my decisions were mistakes. I don't know what to do now. Daniel said no good could come of telling you about it. Was I supposed to lie to you? I tried, but you wouldn't let it go. I don't know how to lie to a direct question. Oh, God, please forgive me. I don't know right from wrong anymore. I'm so sorry." She broke down into sobs.

He came to himself with a guilty start, staring at her in disbelief. She was suffering, had been suffering for some time. She didn't ask for any of this, didn't deserve any of it.

Maybe it was his fault. Maybe he'd never been clear enough about his feelings. Maybe he'd never told her how happy he was, how much she had changed his life for the better.

He sat down next to her and gathered her up. He whispered wordless assurances until she stopped crying and looked up at him, her expression hovering between trepidation and hope.

"Don't ever tell me her name," he said gruffly. "I don't ever want to talk about this again and I don't want you to even think about it. You didn't make a mistake coming here. It was the best thing that ever happened to me. Nothing can top that. _Nothing_, Emily. I don't want anyone else. I want you. I don't care what happened in the life of that. . . counterpart. The memories you have will help us save lives, help us make Pegasus safer, but he isn't me. He might look like me, sound like me, even think just like me, but he isn't me, and I don't ever want you to be confused about that again, ok?"

He held her until it seemed like maybe she'd fallen asleep again. He just sat there thinking, going round and round it all in his mind, trying to understand how she might have come to such conclusions, how Daniel had kept disaster at bay. He cycled through long minutes of worry, self-recrimination, self-doubt, anger, feelings of fierce protectiveness, tenderness, gratitude and longing.

Suddenly, she shifted, not asleep after all. She looked up into his face and stroked his stubbled cheek with her thumb. "Round two?" she asked softly.

He touched her gently, reverently, and whispered hoarse words of love into her ear.


	38. Chapter 38 Epilogue

Emily slept on the plane and now even the dramamine wasn't making her sleepy enough to nod off as she watched the scenery rushing past. The worst of the overwhelming fatigue was over now, anyway. It had slowly tapered off over the following month until she needed only a decent night's sleep and a hefty afternoon nap to get by. She stayed in Atlantis during the first half of that month. The IOA requested her presence daily and Elizabeth resisted as long as she could, trying to give Emily some peace and time to heal, before sending her to the wolves for questioning.

She and Elizabeth spent many hours together during those two weeks, talking earnestly over coffee each morning about what Emily's memories might mean, analyzing each detail, as Elizabeth struggled to make decisions for the greater good. Elizabeth didn't treat her like a prophet—she was kind, curious, and fiercely protective of her people.

Over the course of those two weeks the Wraith queen was dispatched with the assistance of the Asgard beaming technology on the Daedalus. The geothermal station was then brought online. Rodney was hopeful it would eventually be capable of powering the city in ways that hadn't been fully realized since the Asurans had left the city with three fully-powered ZPMs, months before.

Caldwell reported that the Asurans were in the early stages of building their new fleet. They couldn't count on Wraith ships the way they had in the other timeline. It would just be the Daedalus and the Apollo against whatever the Asurans had in the air. John, Teyla, and Ronon were working tirelessly to track down the Travellers, but they hadn't made contact yet—they seemed to be an elusive people. They couldn't afford for the Asuran fleet to ever leave the shipyards. The time to strike was near. It was shaping up to be a dangerous affair.

Elizabeth sent John and teams of marines to set a trap for the Wraith named Michael on the new Taranan home world, but they were too late to save the Taranans. Michael had already murdered them all to create his mutant Iratus/human hybrid army. Michael went down fighting and several of John's men had been hurt in the fight—Ronon injured badly enough to be near death, but recovering well now. The threat Michael posed to the galaxy and to Atlantis was neutralized. Countless innocents were saved from his twisted, murderous schemes.

Rodney was able to hack Michael's computers and extract the locations of Michael's other research facilities. Teams were sent out to free prisoners and to destroy Michael's research before someone else stumbled upon it, got hurt, or used it for their own nefarious purposes. Carson's clone was among the first found. He assisted in recovery at the other laboratories, helping them avoid triggering booby traps, until they were forced to bring him back to Atlantis, to put him in stasis, while the science needed to keep him alive was being researched. Emily didn't envy Carson or Elizabeth as they grappled with what to do about the existence of the man who was so like the real Carson in every way.

Elizabeth was faced with many difficult decisions. Ultimately, though, the decision to keep Emily in Atlantis to recuperate was overridden. A direct order to turn Emily over was issued, so she packed a bag and went back to Earth alone. The IOA representatives were displeased that she'd kept her experience with the Dartaran device to herself, yet eagerly demanded every detail about future events that she could remember.

One of the representatives, a Mr. Woolsey, at least, forced the others to accommodate her condition and allowed her many long breaks to rest. She realized later that she rewarded his kindness tenfold when she revealed he would have taken over administration of Atlantis for years in the alternate timeline. He was even more solicitous after that revelation. Still, she endured five grueling days of questions based on her reports before they finally gave her leave to spend a couple of weeks with her mother.

Now she was on the last leg of her trip before returning to Atlantis, in a car, under a leaden sky that threatened rain, watching as lovely little cottages blurred past the window. Finally the car stopped and the driver helped her out. She had only an overnight bag for herself and a shopping bag of gifts. It was an enchanting looking home, spring green with white trim, surrounded by lush greenery and pots full of bright flowers. It wasn't far from downtown Vancouver and the UBC campus, the driver said. Emily tentatively climbed the steps and rang the bell as a spattering of rain started to fall. The door opened, revealing a smiling woman with long, wavy, blonde tresses and a little girl peeking out from behind her colorful skirt.

"You must be Emily," she said.

"I am," Emily replied, trying not to be too obvious as she looked hopefully inside the home, but no one else came forward. She frowned. "He's not here, is he?" she asked, trying to hide her intense disappointment.

"Ah, no. Sorry. But come in, come in out of the rain! How silly of me to keep you standing there." She stood back and ushered Emily inside and she found herself standing just as awkwardly inside as she had been outside.

"How was your flight?" Jeannie asked, taking her jacket.

"Surprisingly short. I slept." Emily answered.

"Are these for me?" asked a small voice nearby.

Emily turned to find Madison shyly peering into the shopping bag and she crouched down to her level, smiling.

"Maddie, don't! We've talked about this," Jeannie scolded. "I'm sorry. She fixates on things sometimes," she said, with the exasperation of a parent who doesn't really have much to be exasperated about.

"Understandable," Emily replied from her low viewpoint. "Yes, Madison. Some of these are for you. Hm. I know someone else who's impatient to open packages as well." She glanced up at Jeannie who was smiling knowingly.

"I'm sorry this is so awkward," Jeannie was saying. "I assume he's still coming. I suppose we can't fuss over a couple of hours, since he's coming from another galaxy. I'm making myself a cup of tea. Would you like one?"

"Sure." Emily followed Jeannie into the kitchen and perched on a chair while Jeannie poured the tea.

Jeannie set a mug of tea in front of her and Emily wrapped her hands around it, absorbing the warmth, glad to give her fidgety hands something to do. She sat there for long minutes, ill at ease, sipping the tea.

"So you're an archeologist and a linguist, Mer says," Jeannie asked, with raised eyebrows, over her mug as she sipped.

"Ah, yes. Yes, I'm working on a translation project—of the Ancient database."

Jeannie took a seat at the table next to her. "And that's how you met Mer? Working with him in Atlantis?"

Emily nodded. "Yes, we. . . yes."

"What's it like, living there?" Jeannie asked, eyeing her curiously.

Emily smiled. "It's an exciting place to be. An incredible group of people. Well, you've been there, haven't you? It's intimidating at first, but endlessly fascinating. There's always something new to study."

Jeannie nodded, her expression serious. "But it's dangerous, just being there, isn't it?"

"It is, yes," Emily reluctantly agreed.

Jeannie looked curious. "Do you think of it as home?"

Emily took a deep breath, considering. "Yes, I think I do, for now, anyway."

Jeannie frowned and set down her mug. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable, but you're here and I have to assume things are fairly serious between you and Mer or you wouldn't be. He's never brought a girlfriend to meet me before. So, I hope you'll forgive me. . . but, I'm just. . . mystified. You seem really nice, don't get me wrong, but what exactly are you doing with my brother?"

Emily stared at Jeannie for a moment, then realized her mouth was open and shook her head. "I'm sorry, what do you mean?"

Jeannie furrowed her brow, her eyes darting around her kitchen. "He's not exactly easy to get along with."

Emily smiled, amused. "We get along fine."

"Doesn't he drive you crazy?" She sounded incredulous.

"Well, no. We. . . I. . . seem to understand where he's coming from. I don't know. I suppose we do share some of the same flaws to a certain extent. He's not perfect. But at heart, he's just a really sweet guy."

Jeannie looked doubtful.

Emily thought about her counterpart's children in the other timeline, how she'd watched their relationships evolve over the years. "You're siblings, Jeannie. You'll always see him differently than the rest of the world. He's trying, you know. He feels bad about losing contact with you for all those years. He wants to make it up to you, fix things. It's not easy for him, but he's trying."

Jeannie nodded, looking chastened.

Emily smiled at her. "Look at it this way. We all have our own personal toolbox, you know, that we use to interact with each other. Some of us go through life trying to use a hammer in every situation, when sometimes what we really need is. . . I don't know. . . a screwdriver or, or, maybe tweezers or something. I'm sorry, it's a terrible metaphor, but what I'm saying is that he's trying to learn to use different tools and I think he's getting better at it. Atlantis has changed him, Jeannie. If you give him a chance, you'll see."

Jeannie eyed her quizzically. "You say Atlantis has changed him, not you?"

She shook her head. "No. Not me. I'm not trying to change him. I like him just the way he is. Atlantis challenges him. It's like a big extended family. He cares about the people there and he's often forced to protect them. He's grown, I think, based on what I've seen and what I've been told about him."

Jeannie picked up her mug again and looked thoughtful. After a few moments went by, she said, "Our parents were really screwed up, when we were kids."

"I know. He told me. But, ah, you're doing a great job with Madison, that much is obvious to anyone with eyes to see."

Jeannie shrugged. "Thanks. It's not easy."

"No. It's not. I know," she said without thinking and immediately regretted it. A bemused expression flickered over Jeannie's features. She had to keep working on compartmentalizing so those thoughts wouldn't sneak out.

Emily felt something gently tugging at her hair and turned to see Madison plucking at her curls and watching them spring back into place. "You have super-neat hair," Madison said, grinning.

"You like it?" she chuckled. "You have pretty hair too," she said, tentatively touching one of the child's flaxen ponytails.

"Do you think you will? Have kids, I mean?" Jeannie was watching her closely, her head cocked slightly to one side.

Emily sighed wistfully. "I'd like to, yes, but I don't know if everything will line up so it will happen."

Jeannie's eyes narrowed and she shook her head a little. "You do know Meredith doesn't really care for kids, right?"

Emily smiled. Jeannie wasn't aware of her brother's recent change of heart. "Well, he doesn't really have any experience with them. So, I don't know. That doesn't worry me."

Jeannie sat back in her chair and looked thoughtful, sipping at the tea. "Hm."

Emily leaned forward and set her mug down. "You know, Jeannie, since we're being so honest. . . I thought I might mention. . . I mean, I'm just thinking out loud here, but, um, it might really go a long way toward mending fences if you would consider calling him by the name he prefers."

Jeannie looked shocked and maybe a little angry. "But Meredith's his given name. We've always called him that."

Emily put out her hands in an attempt to mollify her words. "Oh, I know. I know that makes sense to you. But if you could just see it from his point of view. He's always hated it—was teased mercilessly as a child because of it and frankly, Jeannie, even as an adult. It's not a kindness to remind him of that. I. . . get the sense that you two are competitive and snarky and that's all in good fun, but this seems like it's something different."

"You think it really matters that much to him?" Jeannie asked incredulously.

"I do. He's far more sensitive than he lets on." She shook her head. "I'm sorry. Maybe I shouldn't have said anything."

"No, no. I just never thought about it that way." Jeannie looked pensive. "I'll give it a try and see what happens." She was staring off into space, thinking.

Emily watched Jeannie's fingers, half expecting to see them twitching or rubbing together. "How did that come to be his first name, do you know?"

"Mom always said it was because Grandmother Gwen requested it. She's Welsh and Meredith is a traditional name for a man in Wales. Supposedly it's been used in our family for generations."

"Ah." Emily nodded knowingly. "I thought it might be something like that. That story wouldn't quite hold up under elementary school discourse, though, would it?"

Jeannie frowned. "I guess not."

Madison appeared at her elbow again. "I'm having a tea party, Dr. Freedman. Here's your formal invitation." She handed her a small scrap of paper covered in colorful crayon scribbles.

"Oh, now this is a lovely invitation, but I can't quite make out when the party is? Can you tell me?"

"It's right now, silly!"

"Well, of course it is. Please lead the way, Madison. I'm all yours." She smiled brightly at Jeannie as Madison led her by the hand into a family room filled with toys.

"Are you in love with my Uncle Mer?" Madison asked in a silly sing-song way, her blue eyes flaring with mischief.

"Why, yes, I am, in fact," Emily replied and reached out with a finger to beep Madison's nose.

Madison giggled. "Do you kiss him and hug him and squeeze him?"

"I do," she answered solemnly, wiggling her eyebrows. "Now what about this tea party? What else are we having besides tea?" She looked up to see Jeannie standing in the archway, watching with an indulgent smile on her face. Jeannie turned then, to go back into the kitchen.

"We're having pizza and ice cream and watermelon with our tea, of course!"

Emily was about to reply when she heard Jeannie let out a small screech in the kitchen. She frowned and started to rise. "Jeannie, are you ok?"

"Yes, I'm fine," Jeannie answered, sounding exasperated.

Emily settled back down and helped herself to some of Madison's plastic play food, pretending to chew with extreme delight. "I have to say, Madison, I didn't know that pizza went so well with tea. It's delightful!"

"Don't forget the ice cream and watermelon," she was sternly reminded.

Something had captured Madison's attention and Emily looked up to see what it was. Rodney was standing in the doorway watching them play, just as Jeannie had been, moments before. She got to her feet and he caught her up in a warm hug.

"You're late," she chided, poking him in the chest, but she beamed at him nonetheless.

"Sorry," he said, smiling at her. "You look. . . really good." He was looking her up and down and his hands, resting on her waist, squeezed her gently.

"So, I meet your approval? I told you my mom would force feed me." She gave him a sweet, chaste kiss since Maddie was watching and wrapped her arms around him again, resting her head on his shoulder.

"Of course you do. I never. . . ." He sighed and gingerly touched her hair. "I wanted to bring you flowers, but I couldn't manage it. Sorry."

"Who cares about flowers? I just want to see you," she said ardently, looking into his eyes and touching his cheek. "I'm glad you didn't waste a second on that."

"Hm," he said, smiling. He looked happier than she'd seen him look in a long time. "What were you doing, just then?" he asked, looking sincerely baffled.

"What do you mean? I was playing with Madison, of course. Come here." She took his hand and led him to the couch. Then she pushed Madison's table over to him. Madison stood nearby, looking skeptical. "Madison, your uncle would like join the party."

"I would?" he asked weakly, his eyes darting around the room, clearly looking for an escape route.

Madison looked dubious, but approached Rodney anyway. "Uncle Mer, would you like to have some tea?"

"Ah, no thank you?" he answered, looking to Emily for rescue.

Madison looked crestfallen.

Emily heaved an exaggerated sigh. "Madison, I forgot! He can't drink tea. It makes him breathe fire, I'm afraid, and we don't want that. No, the best drink for Uncle Rodney is, um, fizzy-wizzy-juice. Could you make a batch of that for him?"

Madison cheered, "Of course! That would be delightful!"

Madison busied herself making the pretend beverage and Emily perched between Rodney's knees and leaned in to kiss him. "I missed you," she said softly. She smiled at him and implored, "Just play along. You might like it, if you give it a try. Think of it as a mission."

"Hm," he said, frowning.

Madison returned, jubilant. "It's ready!" She handed Rodney a small plastic cup, which he took reluctantly. Then she poured expansively into the cup and watched expectantly.

"Bottoms up, Uncle Rodney," Emily said.

He glared at her, but there was a smile creeping up on his lips. "Aren't you going to have some too?" he accused. Madison gleefully poured more for Emily and herself. "Cheers," he said, bumping his cup into Emily's and Madison's. He pretended to take a sip. He blinked and looked mystified. "Is that broccoli I taste in there?" The teapot was stuffed with all kinds of plastic fruit and vegetables and broccoli was perched on top.

"Of course! That's what makes it healthy. Do you like it?" Madison demanded.

"Mm," he said, noncommittally. "It's very. . . fizzy."

"I know!" Madison enthused. "It has bubbles that just go pop, pop, pop inside your mouth!" Madison danced around, hands shooting out in the air, illustrating her point.

Rodney looked amused and set the cup down, glancing at Emily for approval. She smiled and joined him on the couch. He put an arm around her. Madison climbed up next to him. She plucked at his shirt. His eyes widened and he cleared his throat, looking uncertain.

"Uncle Mer?" Madison asked.

"Yes?"

"I like Emily."

"Hm. I do too." He smiled and watched Madison warily. She picked up a doll that was laying nearby and climbed onto Rodney's lap, looking at it. He froze and glanced at Emily in alarm. Madison didn't notice. She was shaking the doll around, watching the doll's blonde hair fan out.

"Will you marry her and come live with us? We have lots of room."

"Ah. . . well. . . I. . . ." he stammered.

Emily leaned forward and pulled Rodney's arm off her shoulder, guiding it to rest on Madison's back, who promptly leaned back against him.

"I asked you a question. You do know it's rude not to answer a question, right?" Madison demanded, looking up at him. He looked nonplussed and Madison took that as a sign that he needed convincing. "You know she's pretty, right? She's got pretty hair and she smiles a lot. She makes you smile, too. Do you have any other girlfriends?"

"Ah, no," he replied, glancing at Emily with an uncertain expression on his face.

Emily just sat there, pressing her lips together, trying not to let her amusement disturb their conversation as it evolved.

"I didn't think so. You should really marry her before you get too old to do that." Madison sighed and continued to play with the doll's hair quietly, snuggled against his chest.

"About dinner," Jeannie said, walking into the room holding a phone book. She stopped abruptly, taking in the scene with surprise. She shook her head slightly and continued, "Ah, I was thinking, rather than cooking, I would just order from your favorite pizza place and make a nice green salad. Boston, wasn't it?"

His eyes lit up. "Mm. The Meteor. Best pizza in Vancouver. It's fantastic. You'll love it," he said to Emily.

Jeannie rolled her eyes. "Yes, I'll order your carnivorous heart attack on a plate for you. I hope they have some kind of veggie option," she muttered, walking away again.

Emily got up to follow her into the kitchen.

"Hey, where are you going?" Rodney asked worriedly.

"It's customary for me to offer to help in the kitchen," Emily explained.

"Oh. Well, I'm sure she's got it under control."

"I know. But I still have to offer."

He frowned. "Mm."

She sat back down for a moment and said quietly, "Rodney, it really is one of the joys in life to simply hold a child on your lap. It won't be long and she'll be too big for that. Just stay in the moment. Forget all the million things you're worried about right now. Read her a book. She's your niece—you need to get to know her. She's brilliant, just like you, you know. She's just lovely." She leaned in a little bit and couldn't resist whispering in his ear, "She really will be just like you. You should start cultivating that now, don't you think?"

"What? Really?" He looked at Madison as though seeing her potential for the first time. He seemed lost in thought for a moment, then said, "Hey, Maddie, got any good science books we could read?"

Emily raided her shopping bag for a package containing a small stack of books she hoped would satisfy both of their interests and handed it to Maddy. That started an interesting conversation that she wished she wouldn't have to miss, but she left them alone to go into the kitchen. She found Jeannie with a chef's knife in her hand, angrily chopping up a head of romaine.

"I was hoping I could help with the salad," she ventured, wondering if she had overstepped and gotten off on the wrong foot by bringing up Rodney's name.

"Do you know how he got here? Did he tell you?" Jeannie asked in a quiet, angry whisper, waving the chef's knife wildly in the air in front of her.

"No. He didn't say. What's wrong, Jeannie?" She stayed on the opposite side of the island. It seemed safer.

"He just beamed in here. Beamed. Into my kitchen. What if Madison had seen that? How on Earth could we explain that to her? What if she said something to her preschool teacher about it? Do you have any idea how damaging that could be for a child of her age?"

Emily took a deep breath, but before she could say anything, Jeannie continued.

"And then, he just says, 'Where is she?' and walks away. No, 'Hi, Jeannie, good to see you,' or anything like that." She frowned and put down the knife and pushed her hair back.

"Jeannie, you're right. That was reckless. I'm sorry."

"I am? You are?"

"Of course you are. You aren't overreacting. I agree with you. I'll talk to him and make sure it doesn't happen again. Don't worry."

"Good. That's good," she said and looked down at the lettuce, frowning.

"The other thing. That's my fault. He's worried about me. There was an accident in Atlantis. I was. . . hurt, in a manner of speaking, and he's been a little bit. . . protective. He didn't want me to come home without him, but he couldn't leave for that long. He does want to see you, Jeannie. That's why we're here. He was excited for me to meet you."

"Oh." She picked up a handful of the lettuce and put it in a colander, frowning. "You seem ok. Are you?"

"I am," Emily replied firmly.

"I don't know what I expected you to be like, but you're not what I expected at all."

Emily smiled, not sure what to say to that. "Can I shred the carrot for you?"

Jeannie handed her a carrot and a box grater that were laying nearby. "He caught me completely off-guard. I didn't have time to react. Then I thought I should say something, then I changed my mind. Then I changed it back again—"

"Jeannie, I'll be glad to say something to him. Don't worry about it."

"No, what I'm trying to say is, I overheard what you said to him, about Madison. It was the exact right thing to say. It was incredibly sweet. But, it didn't sound like something a young woman who's never had children would say."

She thought about saying, 'Atlantis has changed me too,' but decided not to. Instead, she just smiled slightly, letting the uncomfortable silence hang there, and continued grating the carrot.

Caleb came home then, changing the tenor of the evening. Madison went into a frenzy upon seeing him, then there were the polite introductions. Caleb took over the salad prep and shooed her away. Madison wanted to show them her new bike with training wheels, so Emily and Rodney went out to sit on the front porch and watched her zip up and down the sidewalk in the intermittent misty drizzle.

They sat quietly for a few moments. She wanted to ask about Atlantis and the progress he'd made since she'd been gone, but she didn't want to break the spell—of pretending for a moment that they could be just an average couple engaged in common conversation while watching a child play.

He shifted in his seat on the step. "Landry said they'll be issuing new uniforms in the next month or two. I hope they fit better than this last batch. I hate the way they bunch up under the arms."

"So you've said," she said, smiling. _Many times,_ she thought, amused.

"Leather jackets, too, he said. So, that'll be cool." He looked pleased.

"Very." She put her arms around him and squeezed happily. She leaned back and looked at the clothes he was wearing now. "I'm not used to seeing you out of uniform. How long has it been since you bought yourself some new clothes?"

"Jeannie just asked me the same thing." He frowned. "She said I look like a walking JCPenney catalog, circa 1982."

Emily burst out laughing.

He smiled. "I guess that means you agree."

"We could go shopping while we're here," she offered.

"Not this trip," he replied soberly. "No time. We need to leave first thing in the morning. I have to get back. You're still coming back, right?" He looked worried.

She squeezed his arm to reassure him. "Of course I am. Is FRAN ready? When's the mission?"

"The day after tomorrow. Yes, she's ready." He looked down at his feet on the step below.

"You find her unsettling to be around."

"Yes," he admitted reluctantly.

She sighed. "It's a terrible thing to create a sentient being, solely for the purpose of destroying a race of sentient beings. I'm sorry you've had to do that."

He frowned. They'd been over this before and he'd had the same conversations with Elizabeth, too, she was sure. "I've explained this, Emily. She's just a computer. They're all just computers. Their 'awareness of self' is just programming. We have to do this. If you're right about what they're capable of—and you've been right about everything so far—we don't have a choice. You don't regret telling us, do you?"

She shook her head. "Of course not. I know it has to be done. I just. . . hate that we both have to play a role in it."

"John finally found the Travelers two days ago. We've been coordinating teams of engineers and electricians and people with the gene. They've agreed to send a handful of ships against the Replicators in exchange for our help getting a couple of abandoned Ancient warships they've scavenged in flying shape." He shook his head as though in complete disbelief. "Their ships are a mess. They're all cobbled together from mismatched components. I can't believe they actually fly those things, much less live in them. That's why I was late. I don't know how much help they're actually going to be."

Relief flooded her senses. Having more ships in the fray would mean the risk to each individual would be spread a little thinner. She knew Rodney had to go. . . yet the thought of it was terrifying. "Isn't the idea just to keep the Asurans busy while FRAN does her job?"

"Yes, but it may take a while for her to get the job done. It's not going to be instantaneous." He looked off toward the setting sun, grimacing.

She leaned her head against him and ran a hand over his back. "At least we'll have the element of surprise in our favor, right? They can't expect anything like this. Is John still determined to steal ZPM's while you're there?"

He nodded and sighed. "Yes, and he's not wrong about that. Having a few extra ZedPM's around will put us in a much better defensive position against the Wraith. If we can't overload them because the power structure of the city will collapse, then it makes sense to try to take them. At least we know they'll never fall into the hands of the Wraith. That super-hive you told us about would be a menace."

"But it's so much risk," she said, her eyes still following Madison gleefully zipping up and down the sidewalk on her bike in a brightly colored raincoat and galoshes.

"John and I will each have a personal shield, thanks to you. We'll also have the ARG's. They should work for a while before they adapt. And we have beaming technology that can pull us out in a split second. We'll be in a much stronger position when this is over. Between the geothermal station and the ZedPM's, our defenses will be in top shape for the first time. You've saved a lot of lives and we'll be in a position to save many more."

She leaned against his shoulder and thought about the other things she had saved him from—like delivering Teyla's baby. It was really a shame, because the future-McKay spoke of that moment with such tenderness, having never had children of his own. She wondered if Teyla would still get pregnant in this new timeline. It would be soon, if she did. It would change the dynamic of his team forever, but in an interesting way. He said it made them even more like a family.

These were the kinds of things that she didn't dare voice. She'd meddled enough and felt a superstitious reticence about the rest. Daniel had been right about all of it. Every last thing. These personal matters were things that just weren't meant to be known.

But there were many hopeful things she knew. Rodney would eventually discover a way to recycle ZPM's. There was a passage in the database she intended to reveal to him after they got back—under the heading _Potentia_ with an inverted 't' meaning 'power' and inverted 'a' signifying 'infinity.' They would likely spend months studying that entry, once the business with the Asurans was done.

There was a unique solution to the problem with the Wraith as well, but Carson, and a molecular biologist that wasn't even employed at the SGC yet would have to collaborate on that project for years before it would see any fruit. She'd already spoken to General Landry, who promised to track that scientist down and recruit her as soon as possible. She couldn't wait to see how Carson would react to her. In the alternate timeline, Carson's clone had married her. This plan, however, would also mean they'd need to find a powerful and complicit Wraith ally, and since the timeline would be changed, Todd may not be the one to play that roll. It could be a dangerous endeavor.

She still scribbled in her notebook daily, though there was less and less to say about the future she knew of Atlantis and more and more about her counterpart's children and their lives. They had been the best, most vital part of that other lonely life before she met Rodney. She'd been a good mother, she knew now. They'd gotten the best of both of them—exuberant, insightful, full of laughter and smiles, well-liked and well-loved.

She'd told Daniel about them, sitting in a park after her return to Earth. She could see that he felt pride too, to know what they could have been—what they actually were, somewhere in an unreachable parallel timeline. She hoped that knowing it would help him have the courage to pursue that kind of life with the woman she knew he really loved. He'd been hurt so badly in the past, it had to be painful for him to contemplate. She thought she'd maybe seen hope glinting in his eyes when they parted, however.

In the other timeline, her counterpart changed a great deal from the person she'd been before the device had changed everything. She'd grown stronger, more salient, respected. She was a different person. Rodney had helped her see that. She was not on the path to becoming that other Emily. She would have her own experiences, and would grow and change in different ways. She was on a path of her own. Knowing what the other Emily knew didn't have to change her, except for the better. She would learn, in time, to keep it all in perspective.

* * *

She nudged Rodney in the side with her elbow and smiled her most winning smile. "When we get back—as soon as it's feasible—I want you to test me in the control chair and teach me to fly the jumpers, ok? I have a good feeling about it. I think I might be good at it and, well, we need to be ready for anything, right?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Ok. Really?"

"I don't know if she's mentioned it to you, but Elizabeth agreed to give me my own gate team and Landry's agreed to let me recruit a group of archeologists, structural engineers and so forth. I feel certain there are things in Pegasus we need to uncover—bits of tech or documents from lost civilizations that might have small nuggets of information that could help in the fight against the Wraith. Though each civilization that went up against the Wraith may individually have fallen—a collection of all of their knowledge from across the galaxy and the millennia might provide a more comprehensive picture and, hopefully, the answers we need. The Ancients were too arrogant to consider that the humans in Pegasus could have original thoughts or discoveries that might contribute something vital to the struggle. They were wrong. I want to start with Athos and Sateda, to honor your friends and their contribution to Atlantis."

He furrowed his brow. "You've been thinking about these things a lot."

"Yes. I can contribute."

"Of course. Of course you can contribute. But you. . . .ok. But what about the database project?"

"Don't worry, that'll still be a priority." She held his gaze for a moment, still watchfully aware of Madison. "Everything is changing. The things I know may not be useful for much longer."

A curl blew across her face and he reached over and pushed it back, his fingers trailing slowly down her cheek.

"I know," he said softly. "But I think that's probably for the best. It's a lot of pressure, isn't it?"

She looked into his eyes. "He didn't tell her everything. How could he? Why would he?" She snorted softly, shaking her head. "There are still going to be dangers to face and for all we know they may be more horrible than the ones we're trying to avert."

He took her hand and looked down at it, slowly rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. The corner of his mouth turned up. "Maybe. Probably. But at least we'll be together."

*Author's note: if you enjoyed this story, please leave a comment or share it with your friends! This was so much fun-thank you so much for the opportunity to share. And thank you to Wild Force Ranger, one of my four betas.


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